SUMMER PICTURES 



SUMMER PICTURES: 



COPENHAGEN TO VENICE 



HENRY M.'fIELD, 

ACTHOK OF 

"the irtsh confederates and the rebellion of 1798.' 




NEW YORK: 
SHELDON & COMPANY, 115 NASSAU STREET. 

BOSTON : GOULD & LINCOLN. 



1859. 

Ho, /, 



Entki;ed aceoyjing to Act of Coigrcss, in ilie \enr 1859, by 

SHELDON & co:mpaxy, 

In the Clerk's Office of tUe District Cmirt of the United States for the Southern District (A 
New York. 






W. H. TiNsoN, Stereotj-per. PcnNsy & Russkll, Printers. 



TO THE COMPANION OF THIS TOUR, 

WHOSK FAMILIAR KNOWLEDGE OF EUROPE, 

ND QUICK OBSERVATION OF LIFE AND MANNER 

MADE EVERY DAY ONE OF INSTRUCTION ; 

AND WHOSE EVE E -BUOYANT SPIRIT 

GAVE TO THESE MONTHS OF TRAVEL 

ALL THEIR BRIGHTNESS AND SUNSHINE, 

IT IS MOST FIT TO DEDICATE 

Or&i's 5oubi:nfr £f so mu:I) |l|,apf iiuss. 



CONTEInTTS 



f 



CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Crossing the Ocean in a Packet Ship — A Night on a Pilot Boat — 
Landing at Fiilmouth — Piide on an English Mail Coach — The 
Atlantic Telegraph Expedition J3 

CHAPTER II. 
Dickens Reading his Christmas Carol 23 

CHAPTER III. 
A Near Yiew of Mr. Spurgeon 4*7 

CHAPTER lY. 
English Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship of Rank 
— Better Qualities — English Hearts and English Homes C6 

CHAPTER Y. 
England and the Continent — Normandy — Dieppe — The Cliff, the 
Castle and the Beach — Rouen — Paris 81 

CHAPTER YI. . 
Changes of Ten Years in the French Capital — The Republic De- 
stroyed—Louis Napoleon — Improvements in the City— New 

vU 



viii .. co^'TEXTS. 

PAGE 

Buildings, New Squares and New Streets — Eulargeinent of the 
City Walls— Military Regime — The Imperial Guard — Zouaves 
and Chasseurs — Chances of Revolution — Feeling of the Nation 
toward the Emperor— Will the Empire last ? 91 

CHAPTER VII. 
The American Chapel in Paris 103 

CHAPTER YIII. 

Holland— Face of the Country — Dikes find Canals— Energy of 
the People — Wealth and Commerce — Historical Interest of 
Holland— Her Scholars and Painters — Wars for Liberty — Em- 
barkation of the Pilgrims — Friendly Manners of the People — 
How the Dutch enjoy themselves .' 110 

CHAPTER IX. 

Leaving Holland — Hanover and the Georges — Hamburg — Beauty 
of the City — Its Commerce 132 

CHAPTER X. 

Denmark — Excursion in Holstein and Schleswig — Life in a Da- 
nish Parsonage 141 

"chapter XL 

The Island of Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty of the City and its 
Environs — Decline of Denmark as a European Povrer — Attack 
of Nelson in 1801 — Bombardment in 1807 — Loss of Norway — 
The Country still Rich in the Elements of Prosperity — Points 
of Sympathy with America — Settlement of the Sound Dues 
Question — The King — Hopes of Scandinavian Unity — Thor- 
waldsen 150 



CONTENTS. IX 

CHAPTER XII. 

PAGE 

Crossing the Baltic— Germany — Berlin, a Dull City except for 
Scholars — Manners of the People— Frederick the Great— The 
Prussian Army— Political Discontent— Signs of Ptevolution. . . 174 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Dresden — Position on the Elbe — Beauty of the City and its En- 
virons — Attractions to Strangers— Picture Gallery— The King 
—The Battle of Dresden 182 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Sail on the Elbe — Prague— Situation and Architecture — The Old 
Bridge — The Jews' Quarter — Synagogue and Cemetery — The 
Cathedral — Palace of the Bohemian Kings 193 

CHAPTER XV. 
Protestantism in Bohemia— Early Reformation— John Huss — 
The University of Prague — Huss Burnt at Constance — The 
Wars which followed— Blind Ziska— The Thirty Years' War— 
Wallenstein— Present State of Protestantism in Bohe>ma 203 

CHAPTER XVI. 
Vienna — Contrast with Berlin — The Imperial Cit}- — Historical 
Associations — Tombs of the Emperors — Maria Theres,'^ — The 
Son of Napoleon — The Present Royal Family — The Govern- 
ment — Failure of the Revolution of 1848 — Result of th*^ War 
in Hungary — A Slow Progress , . . 212 

CHAPTER XVII. 

From the Baltic to the Adriatic — The Scmmering Pass over the 
Julian Alps — The Grotto of Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
from the Sea — Canals and Gondolas— The Square of St. Mark 
1* 



X CONTENTS. 

PACK 

— Pii.lacG of the Doges, aud the Bridge of Sighs — Visit to the 
Islands in the Ilarbor — Moonlight and Music 226 

CHAPTER XYIII. 
Another View of Venice — The Austrian Rule — Celebration of 
the Emperor's Birthday — Illumination for the Young Prince — 
Hatred of the People to the Officers — The Bombardment and 
PoUtical Executions 239 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Verona — Its Amphitheatre — Congress of Verona — The City 
Strongly Fortified — Campaign of 1848 — Probable Tactics in 
case of another War — Milan and its Cathedral 245 

CHAPTER XX. 

Lakes Como and Maggiore — The Battle-field of Novara — Abdica- 
tion of Cliarles Albert — His Voluntary Exile and Death — Turin 
— The King and the People — Hatred of the Austrians — Part in 
the Russian War — Crossing Mont Cenis 2G3 

CHAPTER XXI. 
Domestic Life in France 281 



0:N'E WOED. 

PiCTUEES — nothing more ! ITo " grand tour " here drags its 
slow length along. This is not a Hand-Book of Foreign Travel, 
ponderous with statistics of strange lands and cities, but a 
mere Portfolio of Sketches by the Wavside. Most of these 
were taken on the spot, and sent home, in letters, to America, 
which may explain their familiar style. The writer calls them 
"Pictures," to indicate their fragmentary and unpretendiug 
character; and "Summer Pictures," partly because they were 
taken at that season of the year when the earth puts on her 
beauty — but still more as a token of that cheerful light in which 
he has looked upon countries and men. In the same genial 
temper may the reader cast his eye over this succession of 
pleasant landscapes, warm and glowing with the summer's sun. 

New York, May 20, 1359. 



SUMMER PICTURES 



CHAPTER I. 

Crossing the Ocean in a Packet Ship — A Night on a Pilot Boat 
— Landing at Falmouth — Kide on an English Mail Coach — 
The Atlantic Telegraph Expedition. 

Plymouth, England, Jane 7, 1858. 
Our passage across the Atlantic has proved one of the 
most rapid ever made by a packet-ship. Only fourteen 
days from land to land ! At first the fates seemed to be 
against ns. A storm with thnnder and lightning broke 
over us as we were going down the bay. But from the 
hour we passed Sandy Hook, the winds which for weeks 
had been blowing from the east, turned to the west, and 
continued favorable through the whole voyage. In the 
Gulf Stream and off the Western Islands, we encountered 
heavy gales, but as they blew from the right quarter, 
they only speeded us on our way. The scene was excit- 
ing, and sometimes fearful. The waves went booming past 
with a noise like thunder, the spray rained upon our deck, 

13 



14 SUMMER PICTURES. 

and the ^vinds shrieked m the rigging, but still the gal- 
lant ship swelled her canvas proudly to the gale, and flew 
before it like a bird of the storm, and in just two weeks 
brought us in sight of England. 

Our friends who are going to Europe, if they do not 
fear to be delayed by contrary winds, and can spare a 
few days more of time, will do well to take one of the 
London packets. I commend to them especially the fa- 
mous line of Capt. Morgan, w^ho has been himself so long 
and so favorably known to all travellers between England 
and America. Rev. Dr. Bushnell once told me that half 
the pleasure of a voyage to Europe was to cross the sea 
with Capt. Morgan. Smce he retired from active com- 
mand, he has resided in New York, and had charge of 
the whole line. The ships are all good, but one may 
think himself peculiarly fortunate who embarks on board 
the Amazon, with Capt. Hovey. This is a ship of 2,000 
tons, very stoutly built, and of such fine model, that she 
carries herself through the water with a steady and gen- 
tle motion. Her captain is an excellent seaman, very 
quiet in his manner, but with, a quick eye to observe 
every spar and sail and roj^e, and prompt and energetic in 
the whole discipline and management of his crew. The 
ship was always in perfect order, and under such excel- 
lent control as gave us a very pleasant feeling of con- 
fidence and security. Besides, Capt. Hovey is not only 
a brave and skillful seaman, but a thoroughly good man, 
always kind and considerate of the comfort of his pas- 



CROSSIXG THE OCEAN IN A PACKET SHIP. 15 

sengers. I had crossed the ocean with hmi once before, 
on the voyage home from England in 1848, and was glad 
of the opportunity to be with him again. 

To many persons it will be a further recommendation 
of these ships, that they can carry but a limited number 
of passengers. A few years ago, when all travel between 
Europe and America was by sailing vessels, the London 
and Liverpool packets were fitted up with long cabins, 
which could accommodate a large number. But since 
the majority of travellers now go by steamers, the cabin 
is reduced in size, though perhaps increased in conveni- 
ence. That of the Amazon is built on the upper deck, 
so high as to furnish the best light and air. It held now 
but little over a dozen passengers, yet the state-rooms 
were all occupied. As our companions chanced to be all 
countrymen, and agreeable persons, there sprang up be- 
tween us a very friendly feeling. There were just enough 
for a good family party. At their special request, joined 
to that of the captain, we had daily prayers, and as 
we met thus morning and evening, or gathered around 
our table, we seemed indeed like one household, and 
sure I am, that all will recur to these two weeks on ship- 
board as a most agreeable chapter in their lives. 

As soon as we saw the coast of England, we were im- 
patient to be on shore. The captain knew our wish, and 
offered to aid us in its execution. We had hardly en- 
tered the British Channel before we descried making 
tovrards us a pilot boat from Falmouth, which hailed us, 



16 SUiVniER PICTURES. 

and asked for orders. As ^ve were bound for London^ 
the captain had no use for a pilot to Fahuouth, but asked 
if he TA^ould return into port with several of our passen- 
gers. Four of us wished to go, and the pilot said he 
w^ould take us in for a pound apiece, an oifer which w^e 
eagerly accepted. He sent a small boat to take us oif to 
his little vessel, and w^e clambered down the sides of the 
Amazon, Mrs. F. being swung over in a chair. The sun 
was sinking in the w^est as Ave moA^ed away from the 
noble ship, and our friends w^aved their adieus from the 
upper deck. 

We were in full view^ of the coast, yet we had some 
miles to work up to Falmouth. With a cracking breeze, 
our light boat would easily have taken us in in an hour ; 
but hardly had we left the ship, before the wind left us. 
The gale which had borne us on so swiftly, had spent its 
strength, and was dying away. The long swell which 
came rolling in from the Atlantic, subsided into gentle 
undulations, as if the w^aters knew that they touched the 
shores of England, and sank down submissive at her feet. 
If I w^ere an artist, I would try to paint that sunset, 
though the richest colors ever thrown upon canvas could 
not approach the reality. All gloriously sank the sum- 
mer sun, resting on the horizon like a globe of fire, and 
casting up his rays into the clouds which hung over the 
place of his going down. We stood up in the stern of 
the boat in silent awe, and seemed transfigured in the 
glory which covered the sea and sky. 



A NIGHT ON A PILOT BOAT. 17 

As the sun went clo^yn, the breeze went with it. 
Fainter and fliinter came the pulses of tlie air, till at last 
there was a dead calm, and our little boat, though light 
as a feather, ceased to move ; her canvas drooped, and 
like a white duck folding her wings at shut of day, she 
lay sleeping on the ocean's breast. 

But we had still several hours of light. To the golden 
sunset succeeded the softer twilight, which in the month 
of June, and in this high northern latitude, lingers long. 
At ten o'clock, its pale reflection was still in the heavens. 
As it faded out in the west, calm and beautiful shone 
forth the evening star. 

For a time we had kept up a brisk conversation, but 
as the twilight deepened, we spoke in lower tones, and 
at last all sat silent and thoughtful, watching the revolv- 
ing; lio-hts in the lio-hthousos along; the coast, or turnincc 
away to where the great johantom of the ship glided on 
in the darkness. "We saw distinctly the houses on the 
shore. But all Avere hushed in quiet. Not even a curl 
of smoke could be seen rising from the chimney-top, and 
not a watch-dog's howl came across the waters. The 
people, like honest Christian folk, had gone to bed, 
where we ought to be. 

When we left the ship, we did not dream of passing 
the night in this cockle shell. A pilot boat has but 
limited sleeping arrangements. One may indeed creep 
down a ladder into a narrow space under the deck, which 
is dignified as " the cabin." But a full grown man, who 



18 SUMMER PICTURES. 

should stretch his Umbs in it, would feel almost as if he 
were laid out in a coffin. I tried it for a few minutes, 
but was glad to escape into the night air. So we were 
fain to make a sofo out of a pile of trunks ; and wrapping 
our cloaks and shawls about us, there we sat all night 
long, muffled and still. But the hours did not seem 
weary. De Quincey says, that often, when under the in- 
fluence of opium, he fell into long reveries, from which he 
did not wish to awake. " More than once it has happened 
to me, on a summer night, Avlien I have been at an open 
window, in a room from Avhich I could overlook the sea, 
that I have sat from sunset to sunrise, motionless and 
without wishing to move." We too were under a spell. 
The heavens above, and the M'aters beneath, were full 
of solemn mystery, suggesting thoughts too deep for 
slumber. 

But look ! the day begins to break. By three in the 
morning, the first faint bars of light streaked the east, 
and in an hour it was clear day. We found that we were 
inclosed by the arms of a small and tranquil haven. On 
either side the hills rose up from the water as fresh and 
green as if they had just risen out of the crystal sea. In 
front, a projecting headland was crowned by an old fort, 
on whose walls the sentinel ever keeps watch and ward, 
and from which the morning drum-beat rolls over the 
peaceful waters. We looked up with all the surprise and 
delight of Coleridge's Ancient Marmer : 



LANDING AT FALMOUTH. 19 

'* dream of joy ! Is this indeed 
The h'ghthouse-top I see ? 
Is this the hill ? Is this the kirk ? 
Is this mine own countree ?" 

There was a keen delight of the senses in the first smell 
of the land, as we inhaled the odor of violets in the fresh- 
ness of the morning air. And hark, we hear the carol 
of a bird. It is the song of the cnckoo ! 

The pilot now got out his small boat, and two strong 
oarsmen soon pulled us in to the shore. But it seemed as 
if we were landing, like Columbus, to take possession of 
an uninhabited countrj^. There on the beach lay a town, 
but we saw no sign of life. It looked as if the inhabit- 
ants had all disappeared, and there remained nothing 
but silent streets and empty houses. The people in this 
quiet nook of England are guilty of no such revolution- 
ary joractices as that of getting up early in the morning. 
They "sleep o' nights." Indeed the English generally are 
famous sleepers. To lie abed late is recognized as a part 
of a sound, staid, conservative character. Such men are 
not dangerous. A friend who has travelled much in 
England, tells me that the greatest drawback to liis hap- 
piness, is that he cannot get anybody up in the morning! 
Such was our experience. We stepped on the stone 
quay, and made our way through the deserted streets to 
an inn. But here not a living creature was visible, not 
even a dog to bark at a wayworn traveller. We shouted 
lustily as Young America is apt to do, but could get no 



20 SUMMER riCTUIlES. 

reply. Soon a policeman appeared to check any signs of 
riot and revolution. Bat seeing we were but houseless 
travellers, he came to our help — he beat upon the door, 
he rang his club upon the pavement. At length a win- 
dow opened above, and a head in a nightcap peered out 
into the court, and a shrill voice demanded wherefore was 
all this clatter? Our man-at-arms set forth that we were 
voyagers who had just come from off the stormy main, 
and had need of shelter and rest. Whereupon a light 
foot tripped down the stairs, the door was unbarred, and 
we were admitted to the warmth and comfort of an 
English inn. 

In course of time we got a breakfast. But you don't 
expect me to enlarge upon that. You do not think me 
quite so " material." I wish I wasn't. But I must con- 
fess, after being two weeks on shipboard, sleej^ing on 
shelves, and dining on an inclined plane, it was no small 
comfort to be able to sit upright, and partake in peace of 
a quiet, civilized breakfast. This morning we were in 
the highest state of enjoyment. Indeed, we were like 
Adam and Eve in Paradise, in a state in which every- 
thing was pleasant to the eye, and good for food. We 
declared that the bread was the best that ever was baked, 
the butter the svreetest that ever was churned, and the 
cream the richest that ever came from good motherly 
cows. And then the hissing teapot, and the fine English 
breakfast tea ! Ah me, I fear I am growing " material." 
We were waited on by a trim little maid, with whom we 



EIDE OX AN ENGLISH MAIL COACH. 21 

fell in love on the spot, and made offers to take her to 
America. So we talked and laughed, and shouted and 
sang. Indeed ^ye didn't behave with any sort of pro- 
priety. But all the while we ke]3t on eating (of course 
from mere absence of mind). I thought we never should 
stop, and felt quite ashamed of our appetites. The only 
relief to our consciences was the satisfaction of paying a 
good round bill. 

But all good things must come to an end, even the 
best of breakfasts, and that source of happiness being at 
length exhausted, we sallied forth to find t,he coach for 
Plymouth. 

Falmouth, where we landed, is a little, quaint old town 
in the southwest corner of England, near the extremity 
of Cornwall. It is one of the few points in the island 
not yet touched by a railroad. One is being built, but 
it is not yet complete, so that we had before us the unex- 
pected pleasure of a day's ride on an old-fashioned Eng- 
lish coach. Coaches have almost disappeared in England. 
Even ten years ago, when I was here, I found them only 
in Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, and I little thought ever 
to see one again. It was therefore with a sense of keen 
delight that we mounted to the topmost seat, and saw the 
burly coachman rein in his mettled horses, that were pranc- 
ing at the bit, and heard the guard wind his mellow horn. 

To ride on the top of an English coach is an experi- 
ence never to be forgotten. Dr. Johnson once said to 
Boswell, when they were thus perched in air and whirl- 



22 SUMMER PICTURES. 

ing over the country, "Life has few thmgs finer than 
this." So ^ye thought to-day. The distance from Fal- 
mouth to Plymouth is TO miles, which we made in seven 
hours. The coach, carrying the mail, is required by law 
to make ten miles an hour including stoppages. More 
often we were going at a speed of twelve. Up hill and 
down, the gait was never checked. It was generally the 
most rapid trot, but often it broke into a furious run. 
The only notice given of mounting a hill was an extra 
touch of the whip, which spurred the horses into a gallop, 
with which they dashed up the ascent, and as soon as 
they reached the summit, they plunged down in such 
mad career, that I griped the iron railing of the seat, 
trembling at the fearful speed. This swiftness of course 
could be kept up only over the finest roads in the world, 
and by frequent relays of horses. But the Queen's high- 
way Avas like a floor newly swept. Not a pebble jarred 
the even poise of the coach. The horses were changed 
every seven miles, and where the road was hilly they 
were changed even in four. Thus v>'e went whirling over 
hill and dale, now rushing through towns and villages, 
the guard startling the inhabitants with his ringing blast, 
and then sallying out into the open country, which was 
smiling in all the beauty of early summer. To heighten 
the enjoyment, the day was one of a thousand. The 
skies were clear, only a few soft clouds shading us from 
the face of the sun. The hills and valleys glistened with 
fresh verdure ; the trim hedge-rows, the smooth la^ms 



THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 23 

and noble parks were in their richest green. On such 
a clay and amid such landscapes we rode for seventy 
miles. This was our introduction to England. 

In landing at Falmouth, I had another motive besides 
the mere eagerness to be on shore. I knew that the 
Telegraph Squadron was to rendezvous at Plymouth, 
and I thought it possible that I might meet there my 
brother Cyrus,* before the departure of the expedition. 
At Falmouth the Custom-house officer brought me the 
London Times, which announced that the shi23s had 
sailed a week before on a trial trip, but were to return to 
Plymouth. It was therefore a great satisfiction, as we 
drew to the end of our journey, and were just crossing 
the river which divides Cornwall from Devonshire, 
to learn that the ships had returned, and were then 
lying in the harbor. As we entered the town, I sprang 
from the coach and hastened to the Royal Hotel, to 
seek for tidings. Imagine my joy to be told that my 
brother was then in the house ! The Directors had 
come do^^Ti from London to complete the preparations 
for the expedition, and were now in session here. 
The servant had not the words out of his mouth, before 
he exclaimed, " There is Mr. Field now, coming through 
the hall !" The surprise and happiness of such a meet- 
ing can be understood only by those who have been 
alone and far from home, and who in a foreign land have 
suddenly rushed into a brother's arms. We had hardly 

* Cyrus W. Field, widely known from his connection with the Atlantic Telegraph. 



24 SUMMER PICTURES. 

reached our room before we received an invitation 
to dine with the Directors, and in half an hour after 
our long ride, Ave were dressed and sitting at our first 
English dinner. Eight or ten gentlemen were 2:)resent, 
among them Mr. George Peabody, the well-known 
American banker; Mr. Brett, the father of submarine 
telegraphs in Europe ; Mr. Brooking, the vice-president 
of the company, and Mr. Saward, the secretary; Pro- 
fessor Thompson, of Glasgow, and Mr. Lampson, of 
London. 

Such a party of capitalists, with immense business on 
their hands, you might think, would be very grave and 
anxious. But on the contrary, it was one of the merriest 
dinners at which I was ever present. An Englishman, 
however hard he may work, lays off all care at dinner, 
and these men, who had been at work all day, and 
might work all night, were now the most cheerful com- 
panions in the world. I sat next to Mr. Peabody, who 
was full of pleasant and friendly chat about England and 
America. When the dinner was ended, we left the 
directors to resume their deliberations, while we walked 
out to see the beauties of Plymouth, which, viewed 
from " the Hoe," a promenade on high ground overlook- 
ing the bay, with its ships and forts, appears a very 
picturesque city. 

It was now Saturday evening, and Capt. Hudson 
called to invite us on board the Magara the next 
morning, with the special request that I should preach 



THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 25 

to the officers and crew on the last Sabbath before they 
sailed to commence their great undertaking. The occa- 
sion was one of such interest, that tired as I was, I could 
not refuse. The caj^tain sent his boat, with a lieutenant 
and a dozen stalwart seamen to row us to the ship. 
Again the day was beautiful, and the water was like 
glass as we glided across the bay. Before us lay the 
whole telegraphic fleet, four noble ships destined in a 
few days to undertake one of the most stupendous 
enterprises ever attempted or conceived by man. A 
solemn religious serAace amid such surroundings could 
not but be deeply impressive. It seemed like the 
prayers of Columbus and his companions before they 
sailed from Spain. On the after-deck an awning was 
spread to shade us from the sun. A table, covered with 
the American flag, served for desk and pulpit. Before 
me sat the ofiicers of the ship, wdth several of the 
director and other scientific men; and behind, sitting 
upon cannon, and crowding every spot where a man 
could sit or stand, four or five hundred seamen. My 
heart was full. They were my countrymen. And yet 
we were in a foreign port. Around us were the hills 
and Avaters and fleets of England. At that moment I 
felt hoAV strong Avere the ties which bind us to the Old 
World as well as to the Ncav, and most devoutly did I 
pray that the connection which these ships were sent 
to establish between two hemispheres, might be a tie 
to bind them in close and peaceful union. Standing 

2 



26 SUMMER PICTURES. 

thus in the presence of two nations, it seemed appro- 
priate, by humble and united worship, to acknowledge 
our obligations to Him, who has made both England and 
America what they are. It was an act most fitting to 
the hour, that we should bow together on those decks, 
and stretch out our hands to God, and implore His 
blessing on the work which we w^ere about to undertake. 
I opened to the 107th Psalm and read, " They that go 
down to the sea in ships, these see the works of the 
Lord, and his wonders in the deep." Then I spoke to 
the officers and sailors as men especially honored of God 
and of their country, by being chosen for this work of 
civilization. They were gomg on a missionary enter- 
prise, to plant in the depths of the ocean a chord of ii'on, 
which should be vital as a chord of flesh, quivering with 
human Hfe and language, telling the thoughts of men and 
speaking the glory of God at the bottom of the sea, and 
I adjured them evermore to bear themselves as members 
of "a sacred band." Never had I a more attentive 
audience. The hardy tars bent forward and listened 
eagerly to catch every word, and the tear that fell on 
many a bronzed cheek, told that beneath that rugged 
breast there trembled a gentle and manly heart. I may 
travel over many lands, but such a scene surely I can 
never hope to see again. 

After service, the captain took us back to the city. 
In crossing the harbor, we visited the Agamemnon. As 
we approached the ship, we found it surrounded by a 



THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 27 

fleet of boats, which were filled with women ! The sea 
was alive with them. We asked what it meant, and 
were told that these were the wives and sweethearts of 
the sailors, who had come off to take leave of them, 
as this was the last Sunday that the ship was to be in 
port. Jack seemed to be j^lentifully supplied with 
friends of the other sex. They swarmed over the ship, 
clambering up the sides, crowding the decks, and look- 
ing out of the portholes. 

Captain Preedy was standing at the side of the ship to 
receive us. As we touched the deck, he reached out his 
arm to Mrs. F., and led us off straight to his cabin, and 
gave us a hearty English welcome. It was pleasant to 
see the cordial relations which exist between the ofiicers 
of the two nations, and to mark the interest and ambi- 
tion with which all enter uj^on their great work. 

Before we left, Captain Preedy took us down into the 
hold of the ship to see the monstrous coils. He showed 
us one pile forty-six feet m diameter, and fiftCQii feet 
deep, in w^hich there w^ere 1,300 miles of cable ! Can 
such a chain ever be stretched across the wild ocean ? 
The undertaking seems almost above the power of man. 
Yet the preparations are on a corresponding scale of 
magnitude. All that human skill can do, is done, and 
the great result, on which so much depends, must now 
be left with that Being who spreadeth out the heavens, 
and ruleth the raging of the sea. 



CHAPTER II. 

Dickens reading his Christmas Carol. 

" Was there ever a better Charity sermon preached in the world 
than Dickens' Christmas Carol ?"— Thackeray. 

London, June lY, 1858. 
As we were riding tip to London, we saw in the Times 
that Dickens was the next day to give a public reading 
of his Christmas Carol. So many happy hom-s had this 
writer afforded lis by our ot\ii cheerful fireside, in the 
far off Western World — as we sat alone on winter nights, 
just as he wishes his readers to be when they take in 
hand his stories — the fire blazing brightly on the hearth, 
and the ample curtains flowing to the floor, shutting out 
every sight without, and mufiling the sound of city streets 
— that we were curious to see him giving form and voice 
to one of his own delightful creations. Early in the 
morning I hastened to secure " stalls," as the best seats 
are called. The house Avas already full, but fortunately 
a party had just returned a couple of tickets, and so we 
succeeded in obtaining excellent places right in front of 
the platfi)rm. The reading was to begin at three, but it 
was an hour before that we took a " Hansom," and drove 
to St. Martin's Hall in Longacre. Already the rear of 



DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 29 

the hall was crowded, but the seats in front, bemg num- 
bered and secured, filled more slowly. Vfhile waitmg, 
we amused ourselves in observing the audience, which 
included many persons of distinction. It was evident 
that we were surrounded by representatives of the fash- 
ionable society of London. Here were lords and ladies 
of high degree ; with members of parliament, and 
officers in the army, Avho had served in Crimean and In- 
dian wars ; and who had turned out of the clubs at this 
morning hour, to sit under the spell of a man of genius. 
Yonder grey-headed old man, who totters across the 
room, is a noble duke. ^ That lady, Avith a long, red nose, 
who sits near the stage, at Mr. Dickens' feet, is Miss 
Burdett Coutts, the richest heiress in England — a lady 
who is very plain, but who makes up for the want of 
beauty by being very good. She is full of charitable 
deeds, having built I do not know how many churches, 
and endowed English bishoprics at the ends of the earth. 
The last of these was m British America, to the north of 
the Columbia River. 

But none of these grand personages had more than a 
moment's interest for us, since in turning we espied across 
the hall, one familiar face — that of an artist, Avho, though 
from England, had long resided in America, and from 
whom we had parted in New York but a few months 
before. It was a pleasant countenance to see so fir from 
home. No man is more of an artist in his soul, more full 
of fine poetic feeling, than Paul Duggan ; and to recog- 



30 SUMMER PICTURES. 

nize his friendly face amid a crowd of strangers, was a 
pleasure equal to that of the reading itself. To his 
society, and that of Cropsey, another American artist 
now settled in London, we owed, afterwards, many of 
our happiest hours in England. 

And now the fingers of the clock are pointing to the 
hour. Exact at the minute, a quick step is heard, and a 
man of light frame, dressed in a frock coat and grey 
j^antaloons, issues from behind a screen, skips up the 
steps with the agility of a boy, and advances rapidly to 
the front of the stage, and turns and makes his bow to 
the audience. Le voila ! That is Charles Dickens, 

Mark the figure. It is slight and slender, but all quiv- 
ering with life. That agile form seems to be set on 
springs. The man has the same elasticity of body as of 
mind. In age he looks to be just what he is, forty-seven ; 
but time has touched him lightly. Notwithstanding his 
long literary career, and immense activity, he still seems 
as fresh as ever. There is plenty of fire in his eye, and a 
jaunty toss in the curly locks, which, though a little 
frosted, still hang richly on his temples. 

Pausing a moment, he glanced a quick eye around the 
hall, to see that all was hushed and still, and then, in a 
voice, not loud and sonorous, nor yet low and subdued, 
like that of a great orator, who first lets out the softest 
notes of an organ, which he can swell till the very walls 
tremble with the sound, but sharp and clear, he began 
the Christmas Carol. 



DICKENS EEADING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 31 

I take it for granted that you have read this charming 
story — if not, you ought to — and so I need only allude 
to a few of its j^oints to illustrate the varieties of style 
and the dramatic power of the reader. At the first slap, 
came the hard matter of fact : 

" Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt 
whatever about that. The register of his burial was 
signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and 
the chief mourner. . . . Old Marley was as dead as 
a door nail." 

Marley was a hard man in his day, and one like him is 
now standing in his shoes. Here is the portrait of his 
surviving partner, Scrooge. The pencil of Hogarth 
never sketched an old miser better than Dickens by these 
few strokes : 

" Oh ! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, 
Scrooge. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, 
clutching, covetous old sinner! • The cold within him 
froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled 
his cheek, stifiened his gait ; made his eyes red, his thin 
lips blue ; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. 
Heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. "No 
warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No 
wind that blew was bitterer than he, no j)elting rain less 
open to entreaty. Nobody ever stopped him in the 
street to say, with gladsome looks, ' My dear Scrooge, 
how are you ? When will you come to see me ?' " 

In personating this selfish old wretch, Dickens threw 



32 y SUMMER PICTURES. 

himself into the character, as heartily as Kean entered 
into the part of Shylock in the Merchant of Venice. He 
drew down his face into his collar, like a great turtle 
drawing in his head, put on a surly look and spoke in a 
gruff voice. You recall the scene. It is the afternoon 
before Christmas, and the old miser sits in his counting- 
house. We see him there, crouching like a wolf in his 
den, snarling at any intruder, and keeping a sharp eye 
on a poor clerk, who sits in a little hole, which is a kind 
of tank, and who trembles under that evil eye. 

But heigho ! the door opens. A young face looks in, 
and a cheerful voice — which it requires no effort on the 
part of Dickens to imitate — cries out, " A merry Christ- 
mas, uncle !" It is a nephew of Scrooge, who is as poor 
as a rat, but who in spite of that, has fallen in love, and 
(greatest of absurdities !) has actually got married, and 
who, finding himself very happy, makes bold to ask his 
crusty old uncle to come to a family dinner, the next day, 
Scrooge sends him away with anything but a blessing. 
" Merry Christmas," he mutters scornfully. " What right 
have you to be merry ? You're poor enough." But the 
young fellow is in such a happy mood that he is not of- 
fended, and away he goes, light of heart. Just then two 
gentlemen enter who are collecting money for the poor 
to afford them relief. Here Dickens drew hunself up 
with a dignified air, such as would become a portly and 
benevolent gentleman, and spoke in his blandest tones. 
But the solicitors have a tough subject, and make no 



DICKENS HEADING HIS CHRISTMAS CAEOL. 33 

impression. Scrooge looks at the papers, and hands them 
back without a word. The kind hearted men attempt to 
plead for the poor. But the wolf growls : 

" Are there no prisons ? Are there no workhouses ?" 

Ah yes, indeed, there are enough of those sorrowful 
abodes. But, they interpose, "many can't go there, 
and many would rather die." 

This is a pleasant thought to Scrooge : " If they would 
rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus 
population," 

Disgusted with all this nonsense of benevolence, this 
keeping merry Christmas, and this trying to be happy, 
even of people who have got no money, Scrooge rises 
slowly from his seat, and buttons his great coat to the 
chin — in which Dickens follows him — and walks surly 
home. He shuts the great house door ^dth a bang, 
which fills the desolate place with dreary echoes, and 
goes to his room and locks himself in. It is a fearful 
night. The wintry wind howls around the building, 
shakes the door, rattles the windows, and rustles the cur- 
tains of the bed. In such a gloomy hour a man of the 
firmest nerves might feel his sj^irit shake with ghostly 
dread. (Dickens' voice grows husky with terror, as 
if he were sitting in Scrooge's place, and felt his heart 
die within him.) Strange sounds are in the air. A 
heavy tramp is heard upon the stair, and lo ! an appari- 
tion ! Scrooge knows the face as soon as it appears. 
'Tis old Jacob Marley, who died seven years ago this 

2* 



84 SUMMER PICTURES. 

very night, and wlio has come back from the grave to 
warn his old companion of his own sad doom. Talkuig 
solemnly as spirits talk, he gives his warning and then 
slowly disappears. As he stepped backward towards the 
window, Scrooge " became sensible of confused noises in 
the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret, 
wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The 
spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mourn- 
ful dirge ; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night." 

Nothing in the whole realm of fictitious or poetical 
creations, is more difficult to manage than this introduc- 
tion of spirits from the invisible world. Dickens succeeds 
admirably in his rendermg of the character. The spirit 
speaks always in a serious, solemn tone, as one who has 
passed beyond the bounds of this world, and now looks 
upon it with other eyes and a higher wisdom. True to 
the warnmg, Scrooge is visited on successive nights, by 
three spirits, the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and 
Future, who take him by the hand, and give him such 
tramps as make his old bones shake with terror. What 
follows is chiefly taken up with these ghostly visits and 
nightly wanderings. 

As the Christmas Carol is not a play, but a story, of 
course it is but partly occupied with dialogue. Animated 
conversations are followed by passages of description, 
which must be given in an altered manner. Here Dickens 
changes from the actor to the reader. This rapid suc- 
cession of difierent styles, so far from checking the in- 



DICKENS READING HIS CHKISTMAS CAROL. 35 

terest, adds greatly to the variety. These quiet passages 
furnish relief to those which are more exciting. Dickens' 
voice, which all through the conversations had been 
running up and down the scale like a ventriloquist's, now 
fell into a more even and quiet tone, as softer scenes 
passed before his eye. Led by his airy visitants, the old 
miser returns to the scenes of his childhood, when heart 
and hope were young, and even tender love was not 
altoo'ether stifled in his breast. Nothino^ could be more 
delicate than Dickens' rendering of those childish scenes, 
which he so much loves to depict. Scrooge revisits the 
place where he went to school. He enters the very room, 
full of forms and desks. " At one of these, a lonely boy 
was reading near a feeble fire, and Scrooge sat down 
upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he 
used to be." Again a door opens, "and a little girl, 
much younger than the boy, came darting in, and putting 
her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed 
him as her dear, dear brother." 

One of the beautiful things in the Christmas Carol is 
its frequent contrasts, as in the setting of harsh and 
hardened age beside gentle and trusting childhood. 
Thus from the repulsive look of avarice, so hard and 
grim, a friendly ghost transports us along with the miser, 
to a difterent scene — to a poor family who in their hum- 
ble home, and in their poor way, try to keep this holy, 
happy Christmas time. Nothing in Goldsmith exceeds 
the description of the Cratchit family. Poor Bob 



36 SUMMER PICTUJRES. 

Cratcbit had but fifteeu shillings a week, and yet the 
ghost of Christmas " stopped upon his threshold and 
blessed his four-roomed house !" 

Here Dickens was in his element, and never did ho 
portray more exquisitely the joys and sorrows of the 
poor. So animated was the picture, and so well did his 
voice kee-p time to every change and incident of the 
scene, that we could see it all. There was the family 
coming together to keep Christmas — the eldest daughter, 
Martha, returning home from service ; the mother in her 
twice turned goT\Ti, decked out with ribbons, and Miss 
Belmda Cratchit, and Master Peter Cratchit, and all the 
little Cratchits, tearing like mad, so wild with mirth and 
glee. 

But the jewel of the family is yet to appear. His 
father has taken him on his shoulder, and trotted off 
with him to church. Soon poor Bob comes in with the 
little creature perched upon his shoulder. He is the 
smallest bit of a thing, and his name is Tiny Tim. 
Dickens' voice took a softer tone as he said, " Alas for 
Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs sup- 
ported by an iron frame !" 

" 'And how did little Tim behave?' asked Mrs. Crat- 
chit, when Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's 
content. 

" ' As good as gold,' said Bob, ' and better. Some- 
how he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much, and 
thinks the strangest things you ever heard. [Gentler, 



biCKEXS REaDIXG HIS CHRISTMAS CAEOL. 37 

gentler, was the speaker's voice.] He told me, coming 
home, that he hoped the people saw him in the chm'ch, 
because he w^as a cripple, and it might be pleasant to 
them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame 
beggars w^alk and blind men see.' 

" Bob's voice w^as tremulous when he told them this, 
and trembled more w^hen he said that Tiny Tim "vvas 
growing strong and hearty." 

Dickens' voice wavered too, but in an instant rallied 
to describe the great event of the Christmas dinner. 
Here his fancy found full sport, and ran riot amid the 
scene. How well did he describe the bustle of delightful 
preparation, the w^orld of pams by each one of the 
family, to give due pomp to the expected feast. He 
fairly rollicked in the description of the goose and the 
pudding. " There never was such a goose. Bob said 
he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked." 
But even this great achievement w^as eclipsed when 
Mrs. Cratchit, having retired for the purpose, reap- 
peared upon the scene, bearing the pudding ! " Oh that 
was a wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and 
calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success 
achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage." 

These touches were given by Dickens with such mock 
seriousness, such exquisite drollery, that the audience 
were convulsed. We laughed till we cried. But come 
back to the happy group around Bob Cratchit's table. 

" At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, 



38 SUMMER PICTURES. 

the hearth swept and the fire made up." Then came the 
apples, and oranges and chestnuts. " All sat round the 
fire. Then Bob proposed, ' A merry Christmas to us 
all, my dears — God bless us!' which all the fiimily 
reechoed. 

" 'God bless us every one !' said Tiny Tim, the last of 
all." Again Dickens' voice fell into the minor key, as he 
added, " He sat very close to his father's side, upon his 
little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as 
if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, 
and dreaded that he might be taken from him." 

I have referred to the frequent contrasts in the pro- 
gress of the story, which give to its pictures such 
variety, and keep alive throughout a tender and pathetic 
interest. There were scenes which almost lifted one off 
from his feet by their exuberant gaiety. Thus the 
story-teller enters into a game of blind man's buff, like a 
romping boy. He enters into the very soul of Topper, 
and into his body too, when that young man, though his 
eyes are bandaged, and he has to grope in the dark, is 
always sure to catch "the plump sister," and nobody 
else ! And when old Fezziwig improvises in his shop a 
party for his apprentices and sliop girls, you would 
have thought Dickens was about to give a performance 
himself, or that he was at least the fiddler, shouting to 
the whirling couples. His voice skipped lightly along 
sentences which fairly danced to the soimd of their own 
music. 



DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 39 

Yet a few minutes and his voice is checked again, and 
droops like a mourner over some sad scene. These 
were the passages which pleased us most — so touching 
were they, and so fitly spoken, with a power beyond 
the reach of art, the power of deep, genuine feeling, 
No one could doubt the heart of the man that heard him 
then. Full as he is to overflowing of the comic element, 
there is also within him a string that vibrates to the 
sweet, sad music of humanity. His voice knows well the 
low tones that speak of human grief and tears. Perhaps 
the gem in all the Christmas Carol is the death of Tiny 
Tim, and I would give much to have you hear Dickens 
read and act this touching domestic scene. How he 
shared the household grief! You would have thought 
there had been a death in his family, that one of his own 
children had been laid upon the bier. 

The ghost has taken Scrooge out again upon his 
nightly w^alk. " They enter poor Bob Cratchit's house, 
the dwelling he had visited before, and find the mother 
and the children seated round the fire. 

" Quiet, very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as 
still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at 
Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her 
daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they 
were very quiet ! 

" ' And he took a child and set him in the midst of 
them.' 

" Where had Scrooge heard those words ? 



40 SUitMER PICTUEES. 

"The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her 
hand u]^ to her face. 

" ' The color hurts my eyes,' she said. 

" The color ? Ah, poor Tiny Tim !» 

"'They're better now again,' said Cratchit's wife. 
'It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn't 
show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for 
the world. It must be near his time.' 

" ' Past it, rather,' Peter answered, shutting up his 
book. ' But I think he's walked a little slower than he 
used, these few last evenings, mother.' 

" They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in 
a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once : 

" ' I have kno^^Ti him walk with — I have known him 
walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder very fast indeed.' 

" ' But he was very light to carry,' she resinned, intent 
upon her work, ' and his father loved him so, that it was 
no trouble — no trouble. And there is your father at the 
door !' 

" She hurried out to meet him ; and little Bob, in his 
comforter — he had need of it, jDOor fellow — came in. 
His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried 
who should help him to it most. Then the two young 
Cratchits got upon his knees, and laid, each child, a little 
cheek against his face, as if they said, ' Don't mind it, 
father. Don't be grieved !' 

"Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly 
to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, 



DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 41 

and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit, and 
the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he 
said. 

" ' Sunday ! you went to-day, then, Robert ?' said his 
wife. 

" ' Yes, my dear,' returned Bob. ' I wish you could 
have gone. It would have done you good to see how 
green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised 
him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, 
little child !' cried Bob, ' my little child!' 

" He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. It 
he could have helped it, he and his child would have been 
further apart perhaps than they were. 

" He left the room, and went up-stairs, into the room 
above, which was lighted cheerfully and hung with 
Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, 
and there were signs of some one having been there 
lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had 
thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little 
face. He Avas reconciled to what had happened, and 
went down again quite happy. 

" They drew about the fire and talked ; the girls and 
mother working still Bob said: 'How- 
ever and whenever, we part from one another, I am sure 
none of us will forget poor Tmy Tim, shall we ? or this 
first partmg that was among us ?' 

" ' Never, father !' cried they all. 

" ' And I know,' said Bob, ' I know, my dears, that 



42 SUMilKU nCTlIIlES. 

when we recollect how patient and how mild he was, 
although he was a little, little child, we shall not quarrel 
easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim m do- 
ing it.' 

'"No, never, father !' they all cried again. 

" ' I am very happy,' said little Bob, ' I am very 
happy !' 

"Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the 
two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself 
shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence 
was from God !" 

How these words thrilled the audience ! A few mo- 
ments before we had been convulsed with laughter. Now 
many eyes silently tilled with tears. Lords and ladies, 
and commoners alike wept for poor Bob Cratchit and his 
Tiny Tim. 

The close was in a lighter vein. Old Scrooge at last 
awakes, and finds it all a dream. But the ghost has done 
its work. He is thoroughly frightened from his former 
way of hfe. He is shaken in his constant mind by the sight 
of those, who, with not a hundredth part of his means of 
enjoyment, are yet a thousand times happier than he. 
Appalled at the dreariness and desolateness of his miser- 
able and selfish life, he stands aghast at the prospect of a 
lonely and wintry old age, and in his despair, he starts 
from his sleep, and cries for tnercy. 

From that day Scrooge is another man. He goes to 
his office the next morning, and meets his little clerk, who 



DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTilAS CAROL. 43 

is none other than poor Bob Cratchit, whom he frightens 
half out of his wits by cutting unheard of capers, tellhig 
him that he is going on the spot, to raise his salary ! He 
goes out into the street, and pats children on the head, 
and hails the beggars, and gives them means to keep the 
blessed holiday. He finds too — -joy of his heart ! that 
poor little Tiny Tim is not dead. It was only a dream. 
And forthwith he takes the little Dot under his shelter- 
ing wing to love and keep him evermore. And suddenly 
he finds that he has a heart beneath his toughened ribs, 
and a thrill of life runs through his old bones. 

So ends the tale, wdth joy and happiness restored, the 
speaker saying, " And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God 
bless us every one," and with that last word Mr. Dickens 
bowed to the audience, and as they broke out mto a 
furious clapping, he walked rapidly off the stage and dis- 
appeared. 

"We afterwards heard Dickens twice. Once he read 
the first part of Dombey and Son, that which describes 
little Paul ; and the other, he read several detached 
stories, The Poor Traveller, Boots at the Holly Tree 
Inn, and Mrs. Gamp. Each time we admired still more 
his rare dramatic skill and mastery of the human heart. 
He is almost as great an actor as he is an author. He is 
a perfect master of the art of mimicry, being able at will 
to assume almost any look, and to imitate almost any 
voice. He can put on a grave or a merry face. His 
countenance takes easily the queerest and drollest ex- 



44 SUMMER PICTURES. 

pression. Then he draws hhnself up, and puts on a 
solemn grunace, looking like a great wise owl. At times, 
when playing a quizzing character, there is an archness 
in his look, a playful drollery about the mouth, and a 
twinkle in his eye that are irresistible. And then how 
well his voice corresponds. He can speak in a low bass, 
or in a pipuig treble, takmg almost at will the voice of 
childhood or of age, of man or woman. How well did 
he personate poor Toots, in Dombey, and Mrs. Gamp, 
the whining old nurse, in Martin Chuzzlewit ! 

But perhaps his happiest reading, as well as his most 
beautiful writing, is that which delineates children. 
Little Paul Dombey was the counterjiart, though in 
another sphere, of Tiny Tim. The picture was drawn 
with the same delicate and inimitable grace. Who can 
ever forget the little fellow on the sea-beach, gathering 
shells, and asking his sister that question, which tells so 
much of premature development, and decay and early 
death, " Am I an old-fashioned child ?" 

Sometimes Dickens rises still higher, as in the scene of 
the death of Paul's mother, when poor little Florence, 
who has never known what it was to be loved but by 
her, comes into the room and throws herself upon her 
dying mother's breast. Dickens' voice had a tone of 
solemnity that still rings in my ears, as he said : " Thus 
clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, she 
floated out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls 
round all the world." 



DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 45 

This is not the place to enter into a critical estimate 
of Dickens as a writer. Faults enough there may be for 
those who wish, to pick at. His style may be disfigured 
by frequent instances of broad caricature and gross 
exaggeration. But at present I am too much under the 
spell of what I have just heard, to be in a mood to 
criticise. Whatever faults may be found elsewhere, in 
those portions selected for these public readings, all 
must concede not only the overflowing genius, but the 
healthful moral influence. Well might Thackeray ask : 
" Was there ever a better Charity Sermon preached in 
the world than Dickens' Christmas Carol ?" I can well 
believe him, w^hen he says : " It occasioned immense 
hospitality throughout England ; was the means of 
lighting up hundreds of kind fires at Christmas time ; 
caused a wonderful outpouring of Christmas good feel- 
ing — of Christmas punch-brewing — and awful slaughter 
of Christmas turkeys, and roasting and baking of 
Christmas beef" " As for this man's love of children," 
he adds, " that amiable organ at the back of his honest 
head must be perfectly monstrous. All children ought 
to love him." 

It is no small proof of goodness thus to be loved by 
children, Avho are the truest, the most unconscious and 
most unafiected of friends ; nor is it less to be able to 
draw from the fancy or the heart, and to depict airy 
children of the brain, so that they shall become to us 
real beings, and shall live in our faith and our aflection. 



46 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

Whatever else of Dickens may perish, let his children 
live. They at least are innocent objects to love. What- 
ever be said of his portraitures of men and. women, still 
let us keep the memory of these household saints as of 
our own children that we have loved and lost. Always 
must I bless the hand that drew the pale face of little 
Nell, that put such love in her faithful heart, and gave 
strength to her wandering feet, and still as I hear the 
Cliristmas Carol, will I say — Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy 

CHILDISH ESSENCE W^AS FROM GoD ! 



CHAPTER III. 

A Near View of Mr. Spurgeon. 

London, June 23, 1858. 
No preacher in England, since Edward Irving, has had 
such popularity as Mr. Spurgeon. He is one of the lions 
of London — a rather young lion, to be sure ; but one 
who, since his appearance in the field, has roared so loud- 
ly as to make all the nation hear — and every stranger 
who wishes to " do" the sights of this Babylon, must for 
once, at least, see and hear him. Accordingly we set 
apart our first Sabbath to this purpose. We took a car- 
riage early, as Surrey Hall is on the other side of the 
Thames, full three miles from the West End, where we 
had our quarters. We arrived before the gates were 
opened, but found the crowd already beginning to col- 
lect. I had a letter to Mr. Spurgeon which I gave to 
one of the ofiicers of the church, who immediately ad- 
mitted us and uivited us to sit on the platform, but we 
preferred a seat in the front of the side gallery, from 
which we could overlook the audience, which was almost 
as much a matter of curiosity as the preacher. Soon 
we knew that the gates were opened by the hurry- 
ing of those who had tickets to secure good places. 

4T 



48 SUMMER PICTURES. 

It was interesting to observe the audience assembling 
— to mark tlie hurried step and eager look of the 
multitude. Music Hall, as it is named, is ^situated 
in the centre of Surrey Gardens, a i^lace of resort and 
amusement during the week. The hall was designed, 
as its name indicates, for monster concerts, such as those 
given by Julien. It is built with three or four galleries, 
like the Academy of Music in New York, though from 
its greater length, it can hold a much larger audience. 
It is said that it mil contain eight thousand peoj)le. 
But, vast as was this amphitheatre, it was soon filled. 
Tier above tier rose the dense array of heads. The ad- 
mission is by tickets, though the price is so small that it 
is but a trifle to those who wish to attend. Thus, a 
shilling buys a ticket which is good for a month ; and 
five shillings for the same time secures reserved seats. 
At half-past ten the doors were opened to those -^dthout 
tickets. Then came a second rush, which choked up 
every aisle and j^assage with persons standing. But at 
length the trampling ceased, for the building could 
hold no more, the audience hushed to quietness, and the 
preacher ascended the pulpit. 

Never had a j^ublic speaker a more unpromising exte- 
rior than Mr. Spurgeon. He is very short and very fat, 
and altogether what we should call cAt/JJr/, and as he 
goes waddling up the stairs he looks more like an over- 
grown boy than a fully developed man. IsTor does his 
countenance betoken superior intellect. His forehead is 



A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEOISr. 49 

low, and his iii)per lij) is so short that it shows his teeth, 
which gives his mouth the appearance of a simper or a 
grm. Surely, I thought, eloquence cannot come out of 
such a mouth as that. 

But the impression which a physiognomist might form 
from these dull and heavy features, is dispelled as soon 
as he begins to speak. Then his countenance lights up 
with animation. His voice is full and clear, and rings 
through the hall like a clarion, filling every ear with the 
melodious sound. 

The introductory services were not of any special in- 
terest, beyond the ordinary services in every church. As 
is common in England, the reading of the Scriptures oc- 
cupied a longer time than with us, being accompanied 
with an exposition. The prayer which followed was ap- 
propriate and fervent, but not remarkable for thought or 
exj^ression, as were the prayers of EdAvard Irving. The 
singing, though of the j^lainest kind, was grand from the 
multitude of voices which swelled the mighty chorus. 
Mr. Spurgeon read the words, v^rse by verse, and a 
precentor, standing up in front of the pulpit, gave out the 
tune, and led the singing. It was a noble sight to see this 
whole audience rising, and joining in that old majestic 
hymn of which each verse ends with the line, 

"Rejoice aloud, ye saints, rejoice." 

Before commencing his discourse, Mr. Spurgeon an- 
nounced that a telegraphic dispatch had just been re- 



50 SUMMER riCTUPwES. 

ceivecl, calling for a person who Avas supposed to be pre- 
sent, and who was summoned away by a severe domestic 
calamity. The man whose name had been called came 
forward, much agitated, to the pulpit to receive the mes- 
sage, and, as he retired, the sermon began. 

The text was Ecclesiastes viii, 10: "And so I saw the 
wicked buried, which had come and gone from the place 
of the holy, and they were forgotten in the city where 
they had so done : this is also vanity." The subject was 
The Wicked Man's Life, Fuxeeal, and Epitaph. The 
introduction struck me as beautifully simple and apposite, 
as neither farfetched nor commonplace. See how natural- 
ly he introduces his solemn reflections upon death: 

'''It is quite certain that there are immense benefits 
attending our present mode of burial in extra-mural 
cemeteries. It was high time that the dead should be 
removed from the midst of the living — that we should 
not worship in the midst of corpses, and sit in the Lord's 
house on the Sabbath, breathing the noxious efliuvia of 
decaying bodies. But when we have said this, we must 
remember that there are some advantages which we have 
lost by the removal of the dead, and more especially by 
the wholesale mode of burial which noAV seems very like- 
ly to become general. We are not so often met by the 
array of death. In the midst of our crowded cities we 
sometimes see the sable hearse bearing the relics of men 
to their last homes, but the funeral ceremonies are now 



A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 51 

mostly confined, to those sweet sleeping-places beyond 
our walks, where rest the bodies of those who are very 
dear to us. ]N"ow, I believe the sight of a funeral is a 
very healthful thing for the soul. Whatever harm may 
come to the body by walking through the vault and the 
catacomb, the soul can there find much food for contem- 
plation, and much excitement for thought. In the quiet 
villages, where some of us were wont to dwell, we re- 
member how, when the funeral came now and then, the 
tolling of the bell preached to alh the villagers a better 
sermon than they had heard in the church for many a 
day ; and we recollect, how as children, we used to clus- 
ter around the grave, and look at that which was not so 
frequent an occurrence in the midst of a rare and sparse 
population; and we remember the solemn thoughts 
which used to arise even in our young hearts when we 
heard the words uttered, ' Earth to earth, ashes to 
ashes, dust to dust.' The solemn falling of the few grains 
of ashes upon the coffin-lid was the sowing of good seed 
in our hearts. And afterwards, when in our childish 
play we have climbed over those nettle-bound graves, 
and seated ourselves upon those moss-grown tombstones, 
we have had many a lesson preached to us by the dull, 
cold tongue of death, more eloquent than aught we have 
heard from the lips of living man, and more likely to abide 
with us in after years. But now we see little of death. 
We have fulfilled Abraham's wish beyond what he de- 
sired — we ' bury the dead out o:^ our sight ;' it is rarely 



52 SUMMER PICTURES. 

that we see them, and a stranger passing through our 
streets might say, ' Do these men live always? for I see 
no funerals amongst the millions of this city , I see no 
signs of death.'" 

Having thus conducted us to the borders of the grave, 
the i^reacher made a simple division of his subject into 
three parts, and asked us first, to mark the living man, 
" as he came and went from the place of the holy ;" next, 
to attend his funeral ; and finally, to write his epitaph. 

" The place of the holy," he said, in the original proba- 
bly referred to the seat of judgment, held by the civil 
magistrate, but the term might also be applied to the 
house of God, and with a still stronger emphasis to the 
sacred pulpit ; and he therefore proceeded to consider all 
of these positions as sometimes occupied and profaned by 
the presence of wicked men. How sternly did he rebuke 
those magistrates who sit to judge the poor drunkard, or 
the wretched woman of the streets, and who yet in their 
hearts know themselves to be guilty of the very vices 
which they condemn I 

The same rigid inquisition he applied to the worship- 
pers in the sanctuary. After drawing a picture of the 
multitudes coming up to the house of God, he proceeded 
to separate the congregation, and to mark those who 
attend from form, or fashion, or curiosity, and who go 
away as vile as they came. After speaking of the goodly 
sight presented by the vast audience, he said : 



A NEAR VIEW OF ME. SPUEGEON. 53 

" Your pleasure must have a great deal of alloy if you 
stop for a moment and dissect the congregation. Pull 
the goodly mass in sunder : in a heap it sparkles like gold ; 
pull aside the threads, and alas ! you will see that there 
are some not made of the precious metal, for ' we have 
seen the wicked come and go from the jAacQ of the holy.' 
Little do we know when we look here from this pulpitT- 
it looks like one great field of flowers, fair to look upon 
— how many a root of deadly henbane and noxious night- 
shade groweth here ; and though you all look foir and 
goodly, yet ' I have seen the wicked come and go from 
the place of the holy.' " 

But the sternest rebuke of the preacher was reserved 
for those who profane the sacred desk : 

" If there be a place under high Heaven more holy 
than another, it is the pulpit whence the Gospel is 
preached. This is the Thermopylae of Christendom ; here 
must the great battle be fought between Christ's Church 
and the invading hosts of a wicked word. This is the 
last vestige of anything sacred that is left to us. . . . 
Yet I have seen the wicked come and go from it. Alas ! 
if there be a sinner that is hardened, it is the man that 
sins and occupies his pulpit. . . . We have known cases 
where men when convicted to their own foreheads, have 
unblushingly persevered in proclaiming a Gospel which 
their lives denied. And perhaps these are the hardest of 



54 SUMMER PICTURES. 

all sinners to de.al with. But if the garment be once de- 
filed, away with all thoughts of the j^ulpit then ! He must 
be clean who ministers at the altar. Every saint must 
be holy, but he, holiest of all, who seeks to serve his God. 
Yet, we must mourn to say it, the Church of God every 
now and then has had a sun that was black instead of white, 
and a moon that Avas as a clot of blood, instead of being 
full of fairness and beauty. Happy the Cliurch when 
God gives Jier holy ministers ; but unhappy the Church 
where wicked men i^reside." 

After these descriptions of a guilty life, we were 
brought to see its fearful end. We had seen the wicked 
in his power — we were yet to see him laid low in the 
grave. " Now," said the preacher, " we are going to 
HIS FUXERAL. I sliall Want you to attend it." He added 
with a sarcasm that often flashes out in his discourse : 

" You need not be particular about having on a hat 
band, or being arrayed in garments of mourning. It does 
not signify for the wretch we are going to bury. There 
is no need for any very great outward signs of mourning, 
for he will be forgotten even in the city where he hath 
done this : therefore we need not particularly mourn for 
him." 

He then drew the picture of a pompous funeral cere- 
mony made over the body of a wicked man : 

" There is a man who has been a county magistrate. 



I 



A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 55 

Do yoii see what a stir is made about his poor bones ! 
There is the hearse covered with plumes, and there fol- 
lows a long string of carriages. The country people stare 
to see such a long train of carriages coming to follow one 
poor worm to its resting-place. What pomp ! what 
grandeur ! See how the place of worship is hung witli 
black. There seems to be intense mourning made over 
this man. Will you just think of it for a minute, and 
whom are they mourning for ? A hypocrite ! Whom is 
all this pomp for ? For one who was a wicked man ; a 
man who made a pretension of religion ; a man who 
judged others, and Avho ought to have been condemned 
himself. All this pomp for putrid clay ; and what is it more 
or better than that ? When such a man dies, ought he 
not to be buried with the burial of an ass ? Let him be 
drawn and dragged from the gates of the city. What has 
he to do with pomp ? At the head of the mournful caval- 
cade is Beelzebub, leading the procession, and, looking 
back with twinkling eye, and leer of malicious joy, he says, 
' Here is fine pomp to conduct a soul to hell with !' Ah ! 
plumes and hearse for the man who is being conducted to 
his last abode in Tophet ! A string of carriages to do honor 
to the man whom God hath cursed in life and cursed in 
death; for the hope of the hypocrite is evermore an ac- 
cursed one. And a bell is ringing, and the clergyman 
is reading the funeral service, and is burying the man ' in 
sure and certain hope.' Oh ! what a laugh rings up from 
somewhere a little lower down than the grave! 'In 



56 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

sure and certain hope,' says Satan ; 'lia! ha! yoin- sure 
and certain hope is folly indeed. Trust to a bubble, and 
hope to fly to the stars; trust to the wild winds, that 
they shall conduct you safely to heaven ; but trust to 
such a hope as that, and thou art a madman indeed.' 
Oh ! if we judged rightly when a hypocrite died, we 
should do him no honor. If men could but see a little 
deeper than the skin, and read the thoughts of the heart, 
they would not patronize this great, black lie, and lead a 
long string of carriages through the streets ; they Tfould 
say, ' No, the man was good for nothing, he was the out- 
ward skin without the life ; he professed to be what he 
was not ; he lived the scornful life of a deceiver ; let him 
have the burial of Jeconiah ; let him not have a funeral 
at all ; let him be cast away as loathsome carrion, for 
that is all he is.' When a godly man dies, ye may make 
lamentation over him, ye may well carry him with solemn 
pomp unto his grave, for there is an odor in his bones, 
there is a sweet savor about him that even God delighteth 
in, for ' precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of 
His saints.' But the gilded hypocrite, the varnished 
deceiver, the well accoutred wolf in sheep's clothing — 
away with pomp for him ! Why should men bewail 
him ? They do not do it ; why should they pretend to 
do so, and give the outward semblance of a grief, where 
they feel none ?" 

Or the wicked might be buried in a more quiet way ; 



A NEAR VIEW OF ME. SPtJEGEON. 57 

silently laid in the grave with none to mourn for him— 
men standing around whom delicacy to the living con- 
strained to silence, but whom truth would not permit to 
utter hyjDocritic praise. Thus contemplating the end to 
which all must come, the preacher said with solemn truth, 
" Brethren, after all, v:e ought to judge ourselves very 
much in the light of our funerals^ And I could see 
that he was thinking of what might be said of him when 
he was gone, as he added, 

" Oh ! I would desire so to live that when I leave this 
mortal state, men may say, 'There is one gone who 
sought to make the world better. However rough his 
efforts may have been, he was an honest man; he 
sought to serve God, and there lies he that feared not 
the face of man.' " 

And then, as if to heighten by contrast the effect of the 
dark picture he had drawn, he thus j^ortrayed the burial 
of the righteous : 

" I remember the funeral of one pastor — I attended it. 
Many ministers of the Gospel walked behind the coffin to 
attend their brother, and pay honor to him ; and then 
came a long string of members of the Church, every one 
of whom wept as if they had lost a father. And I re- 
member the solemn sermon that was preached in the 
chapel, all hung with black, when all of us wept because 
a great man had fallen that day m Israel. We felt that 

3* 



58 SUMMER PICTURES. 

a prince had been taken from us, and we all said, like 
Elijah's servant, ' My father, my father, the horses of 
Israel and the chariots thereof!' 

" But I have seen the wicked buried, and I saw nothing 
of this sort. I saw a flickering kind of sorrow, like the 
dying of a wick that is almost consumed. I saw that 
those who paid a decent respect to the corpse did it for 
the widow's sake, and for the sake of them that were left 
behind ; but if they could have dealt with the corpse as 
their nature seemed to dictate they ought to have dealt 
with the man when living, they would have said, ' Let 
him be buried at the dead of night ; let him have some 
unhallowed corner in the churchyard where the nettle 
long has grown ; let the frog croak over his tomb ; let 
the owl make her resting-place o'er -his sepulchre, and 
let her hoot all night long, for hooted he well deserves to 
be ; let no laurel and no cypress grow upon his grave, 
and let no rose twine itself as a sweet bower around the 
place where he sleeps ; let no cowslip and no lily of the 
valley deck the grass that covereth him ; there let him 
lie ; let not the greensward grow, but let the place be 
accursed where sleeps the hypocrite." 

But he went still further : 

" There is a sad thing yet to come. We must look a 
little deeper than the mere ceremonial of the burial, and 
we shall see that there is a great deal more in some 
people's coffins besides their corpses. When old Kobert 



A NEAR VIEW OF ME. SPUEGEON. 59 

Flockart was buried a few weeks ago in Edinburgh, he 
was buried as I think a Christian minister should be, for 
his old Bible and hymn-book were placed upon the top 
of the coffin." Had he been a soldier, I suppose hcAvould 
have had his sword put there; but he had been a 
Christian soldier, and so they buried him with his Bible 
and hymn-book as his trophies. It was well that such a 
trophy should be 07i that coffin ; but there is a great deal, 
as I have said, inside some people's coffins. If we had 
eyes to see invisible things, and we could break the lid 
of the hypocrite's coffin, we should see a great deal there. 
There lie all his hopes, and they are to be buried with 
him. Of all the frightful things that a man can look 
upon, the fice of a dead hope is the most horrible. A 
dead child is a pang indeed to a mother's heart ; a dead 
wife or a dead husband, to the heart of the bereaved, 
must be sorrowful indeed ; but a coffin full of dead 
hopes— did you ever see such a load of misery carried to 
the grave as that ? 

" Wrapt in the same shroud, there lie all his dead pre- 
tensions. When he was here he made a pretension of 
being respectable ; there lies his respect, he shall be a 
hissing and a reproach forever. He made a pretension 
of being sanctified, but the mask is off now, and he 
stands in all his native blackness. And so he sleeps. The 
tongue that prattled once so j^leasantly concerning god^ 
liness is now silent. That hypocritical eye that once 
flashed with the pretended fire of joy — it is all now dark, 



60 SUilMER PICTURES. 

dark. That brain that thought of mventions to deceive 
— the worm shall feed on it. And that heart of his, 
that once throbbed beneath ribs that were scarcely 
thick enough to hide the transparency of his hypo- 
crisy shall now be devoured by demons. There are dead 
pretensions inside that rotten skeleton, and dead hopes 
too. 

" But there is one thing that sleeps with him in his 
coffin that he had set his heart upon. He had set his 
heart upon being known after he was gone. He thought 
surely after he had departed this life, he would be hand- 
ed down to posterity and be remembered. Now read 
the text — 'And they were forgotten in the city where 
they had so done.' There is his hope of ilxme. Every 
man likes to live a little longer than his life — Englishmen 
especially — for there is scarcely to be found a rock in all 
England up which even a goat can hardly climb, 
where there may not be discovered the initials of the 
names of men, who never had any other mode of attain- 
ing to fame, and therefore thought they would inscribe 
their names there. Go where you will, you find men at- 
tempting to be known ; and this is the reason why many 
people write in newspapers, else they never would be 
known. A hundred little inventions we all of us have 
for keeping our names going after we are dead. 

" But with the wicked man it is all in vain ; he shall be 
forgotten. He has done nothing to make anybody re- 
member him. Ask the poor, ' Do you remember So-and 



A NEAE VIEW OP MR. SPURGEON. 61 

SO?' 'Hard master, sir, very. He always cut us down 
to the last sixpence ; and we do not wish to recollect 
him.' Their children won't hear his name ; they will for- 
get hini entirely. Ask the Church, ' Do you remember 
So-and-so ? he was a member.' ' Well,' says one, ' I re- 
member him certainly, his name was on the books, but we 
never had his heart. He used to come and go, but I 
never could talk with him. There was nothing spiritual 
in him. There was a great deal of sounding bell-metal 
and brass, but no gold. I never could discover that he 
had the root of the matter in him.' No one thinks of 
him, and he will soon be forgotten. The chapel grows 
old, there comes up another congregation, and somehow 
or other they talk about the old deacons that used to be 
there, who were good and holy men, and about the old 
lady, that used to be so eminently useful in visiting the 
sick ; about the young man who rose out of that church, 
who was so usefid in the cause of God ; but you never hear 
mention made of his name ; he is quite forgotten. When 
he died his name was struck out of the books ; he was 
reported as being dead, and all remembrance of him died 
with him. I tiave often noticed how soon wicked things die 
when the man dies who originated them. Look at Vol- 
taire's philosophy ; with all the noise it made in his time 
— where is it now ? There is just a little of it lingering, 
but it seems to have gone. And there was Tom Paine, 
who did his best to write his name in letters of damna- 
tion, and one would think he might have been remem- 



62 SUMMER PICTURES. 

bered. But who cares for hiiii now ? What is a wicked 
man's body but a rotten piece of noisomeness ? Put it 
away, and thank God there are worms to eat such a thing 
up, and thank him still more, that there is a worm called 
Time, to eat up the evil influence and the accursed mem- 
ory, which such a man leaves behind him." 

And then in a few solemn words the preacher wrote 
" the epitaph of the wicked. This also is vanity, showing 
the folly and madness of the course which led to this 
miserable end. 

As soon as the sermon was closed, there were signs of 
a movement near the door, when Mr. Spurgeon cried 
out, " All who do not want a blessing, can go," and im- 
mediately pronounced the benediction, and the vast 
audience slowly dispersed. 

I have given you this full description of the sermon as 
the best means of conveying an idea of Mr. Spurgeon's 
preaching. Every one is surprised by his readiness and 
fluency, a gift so rare especially among Englishmen. 
During the whole of this long discourse, he had not a 
note or a line before him. It was purely extemporaneous. 
It was taken down in short-hand, as are all his Sunday 
morning sermons, and printed in a tract form, from which 
I have quoted those passages which most impressed me 
in the delivery. 

But what I admired yet more than the fluency of 
speech, was the simplicity of the language. There was 



A NEAR VIEW OP MR. SPURGEON. 63 

not a word which could not be understood by every- 
body. He used plam, homely phrases, and thus the truth 
was brought directly into contact with the minds of his 
audience. In many points Mr. Spurgeon reminded us 
strongly of Henry Ward Beecher — in his hearty earnest- 
ness, in his blunt, pithy way of saying a thing, m his 
touches of tenderness and occasional gleams of humor, 
and in his varied imagination, which though sometimes 
stooping to coarse figures, often rises to the use of imag- 
ery the most delicate and beautiful. 

From all this you will readily infer that we came away 
from Surrey Hall with a very j^leasant impression. I 
confess we had gone with some misgiving, for I had so 
often seen a great reputation dwindle as it was ap- 
proached, that I dreaded to have another illusion dis- 
pelled. But this sermon relieved my fears. I had seen 
Mr. Spurgeon criticised and ridiculed m the English 
journals as a clerical mountebank, and I did not know 
but he might appear as a tlieatrical performer in the jduI- 
pit. But the critic who can deride Mr. Si3urgeon as a 
charlatan, must be insensible to any demonstrations of 
oratorical power. No candid listener can deny to him 
the possession of great talent, and when the amount of 
Ms labors is considered, it appears still more remark- 
able. 

The same evening we heard him again in his own 
chapel in New Park street, and after the service, we saw 
him in his vestry and had a very pleasant interview. I 



64 SUMMER PICTURES. 

had a natural apprehension that he must be breaking 
down from excessive labor. But he assured me that he 
was in robust health. He said that his constant speak- 
ing was the best exercise for him, and that he should die 
if he did not preach ticelve times a loeek. I asked him 
when he found time to study, to which he replied that he 
could give but little preparation to his sermons, often 
entering the ]3ulpit with not more than fifteen minutes 
previous thought of his subject. 

But he has lately contrived to secure some degree of 
leisure. He has taken a house by Clapham Common, at 
several miles' distance from his church, to avoid inter- 
ruptions. His deacons do all his visiting, and hence, in 
the interval of his public duties, he is able to snatch a 
few hours for study and books. I suspect, too, that he 
has read largely in former years. He appears to be very 
famihar with the old divines, especially with Bunyan, 
wdiom he calls " the greatest of EngHshmen." In this 
very sermon, when speaking of the holy dead, he paid an 
eloquent tribute to the memory of the marvellous dreamer. 
Traces of his famiHarity with the writings of Bunyan are 
seen everywhere in his style. 

Such are my impressions of Mr. Spurgeon. I rank him 
very highly among the living men of his country. Some- 
times I hear a fling at him, that he is a coarse, vulgar 
man, and that he is puffed up mth conceit. Perhaps he 
is vain of his popularity. I can only say that I did not 
discover it in his public preaching, nor in his private con- 



A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPtJEGEOI^. 65 

versation. As to his low breeding, certainly he has not 
an aristocratic air. As he has sprung out of the ground, 
he shows plain marks of his origin. He is of the earth, 
earthy. But that very fact may give him half his power. 
His thoughts and language are racy of the soil, and thus 
he is fitted to be what he is — not a fashionable preacher, 
but a real tribune of the people, swaying the hearts of 
thousands of men. I think he would have been injured 
rather than benefited if he had been educated at one of 
the universities, and spent the years in studying Latin 
and Greek, which he has turned to much better account 
in study mg Bunyan and the people of England. Let 
critics carp at him if they will. I shall still love, and 
honor, and admire Mr. Spurgeon — as a man of rare elo- 
quence, and what is better still, of a great and noble 
Christian heart — a heart that loves his fellow-men, and 
seeks their good, and I believe that God has raised him 
up to be a great blessing to England. 



CHAPTER IV. 

English Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship of Rank 
— Better Qualities — English Hearts and English Homes. 

London, ./tme, 1858. 

"V^HEX two Americans meet in England, the first ques- 
tion they ask each other, after bowing and shaking 
hands, is, What do you think of these Enghsh ? Each 
answers according to his own experience. As he has 
chanced to fiill m with favorable specimens or otherwise, 
so is his judgment of the whole people, which he is not 
slow to express in that peculiarly energetic and forcible 
language in which Brother Jonathan is apt to set forth 
his ideas of men and nations. One who should keep 
silence and listen to these oif-hand verdicts, would be 
amused by their variety. I hear so many contradictory 
opinions that I feel much hesitation in expressing my 
own. Nor is this diffidence diminished by seeing the 
greater carefulness of those who know more. 

We have in Liverpool a very excellent rei3resentative 
of our countrymen in the person of Rev. William H. 
Channing, of Boston, who has spent five years in that 
city, preaching to a Unitarian congregation. He is a 
man of fine culture and of large and liberal heart ; full 

66 



ENGLISH MANNERS. 67 

of enthusiasm for all that is true, noble, and beautiful, 
wherever he finds it ; and whose reverence for the Old 
World is only equalled by his hope for the New. The 
other day a friend of mine, who had just landed from 
America, asked him the usual question, What he thought 
of the English ? His answer was very significant. He 
said he did not think he understood them so well as he 
did when he came to England five years before ! I com- 
mend this answer to those who are so prompt and even 
flippant in their judgment of a great people. If a man 
of so much intelligence, and with such excellent oppor- 
tunities of seeing the better class of English society, has 
to confess hunself j^erplexed in trying to comprehend 
the English character, a stranger who has been but a 
few weeks in the country had better be modest in ex- 
pressing his opinion. At least it will be safer to confine 
himself to marked and salient points. 

It does not surprise me at all to hear opinions so 
diverse, for it is clear to the least penetrating observer, 
that the English character combmes some most contra- 
dictory elements, so that a man can hardly mingle with 
them for a few days without finding himself in difierent 
moods, alternately attracted and repelled. 

Equally clear is it that the outside of the English 
character is not the best side. Yet, unfortunately, it is 
all which most travellers see. A young American comes 
to England, full of mterest and admiration for the coun- 
try of his fathers. Yet he hardly gets on shore before 



68 SUMMER PICTURES. 

his enthusiasm suffers a rude shock. His first experi- 
ence falls upon him like a shower bath. At his landing, 
he is thrown, like Jonah into the whale's mouth, into the 
jaAYS of the Custom-house, where he is apt to he roughly 
handled. This is his introduction to John Bull, and he 
comes out of his embraces, thinking he is but a surly 
fellow. 

This is experience 'No. 1. Now for experience No 2. 
He gets into a railway carriage, and begins to ride over 
the country. He is full of eager curiosity, and has a 
thousand questions to ask of what he sees. But his 
travelling companions are not at all communicative. 
For the interchange of thought that passes between 
them, they might as well be deaf and dumb. This 
reserve wounds the pride of a stranger. An American 
especially likes to talk and to exercise his national lib- 
erty of askmg questions. And this distant manner, 
which repels intercourse, he resents as a silent insult, as 
a disdain of his society. One must be disposed to judge 
A^ery kindly of his fellow-creatures, who can ride all day 
in the same carriage with a man who deigns him never 
a word, without thinking in his heart that he is a dis- 
agreeable churl. If this be a prejudice, it is certainly a 
very natural one, and one which it takes a long time to 
cure. 

And yet nothing can be more unjust than to impute 
this reserve always to pride or disdain, or to suppose 
that it is manifested only towards foreigners. I find, in 



RESERVE. G9 

conversing with Englishmen, that they are as fully con-^ 
scions of it as we can be, and often are quite as much 
embarrassed by it. A gentleman of London, who is a 
man of large fortune, told me that on one occasion he 
left for the north, I think for Edinburgh. In the rail- 
way carriage Avere three gentlemen besides himself. 
Yet not a w^ord w^as spoken. Each sat in his corner 
silent. Thus they rode on for two hundred miles with- 
out saying a word. At York the train stopped for a 
few minutes, and they got out. As they returned to 
their seats, one ventured the presumptuous remark that 
" it was a miserable day" (it had been raining ever since 
they started), to which another had the audacity to 
reply, that " they had been as miserable as the day." 
That broke the ice, and the waters began to flow. From 
that moment they kejDt up a constant stream of conver- 
sation all the way to Scotland. 

This incident, w^hich is only one of ten thousand, 
shows that English reserve, in many cases, is not the 
effect of pride, but of shyness. These four travelling 
companions were silent, not because each disdained the 
others, but because each feared the others, and hesitated 
to make advances lest he should be repulsed. Every 
one of these travellers may have been a most amiable 
gentleman, full of intelligence, and " ready to communi- 
cate," but a mutual awe sealed their lips. The true 
explanation, therefore, of English taciturnity, is not to 
be found in a sour or sullen temjier, but in the extent to 



70 SUMMER PICTDEES. 

whicli class distinctions are carried, from Avhich every 
man is afraid to make advances to a stranger, lest he 
intrude on the 'greatness of some one above Inm, or 
stoop to a person of lower grade, whom he will find it 
convenient to drop. These odious distinctions are the 
great bar to social intercourse, the chief barrier to gen- 
eral friendliness and courtesy. 

But the great vice of the English character, as it ap- 
pears to foreigners, that whicli most afironts the self- 
respect of every man who sets foot npon this island, and 
w^hich begets all which is most ofiensive in EngHsh man- 
ners, is — not reserve, for that disappears on acquaintance 
— but another quality which never disappears — Pkide. 
Every Englishman seems to carry about with him a con- 
sciousness of the greatness of his country, a sense of the 
majesty of Britain, which will not depart from him. 
Wherever he goes, he never forgets that England is the 
greatest empire on earth, and he thinks privately that 
no small part of its greatness is incarnated in himself. 
And this makes him alternately haughty and patronizing 
in his treatment of men of other nations. 

Probably no foreigners are so sensitive to this as our 
countrymen, precisely because it jars rudely on their 
own sense of importance. An American puts himself 
in the Avay of offence, for surely as he begins to talk, he 
will talk about his country, which, of course, he thinks 
the greatest country on earth — not yet having seen any 
other — and this touches the pride of John Bull, w^ho is 



PEIDE — SNOBBERY. 71 

apt to reply by a stout assertion of the unapproachable 
greatness of England, or more likely by a quiet disdain. 
He shuts his mouth firmly, as if he had the lockja^v, 
scorning to rej^ly to Yankee ignorance and imperti- 
nence. 

Or if he be of a mild temper, he will perhaps be 
benignant, and even deign some mark of his approba- 
tion. If you tell him of the greatness of the world be- 
yond the sea, he breathes upon you an ineffable smile — 
like that of the Reverend Mr. Chadband — which seems 
to say, You are a very nice young gentleman, and 
America is a promising country for a young one. Go 
on, my children, for a few hundred years, and you may 
approach the stature of your father ! 

Of these two phases of English manners, the lofty or 
the condescendmg, it is difficult to say which is the more 
offensive. An American cannot bear to be snubbed, nor 
to be patronized. Either mode of address implies a 
superiority, that wounds him in his tenderest point, 
which is a sensitive national vanity. 

But pride, standing alone, though cold, distant, and 
repulsive — still has in it a certain dignity, were it not 
belittled by its union with another quality, which seems 
the very opposite, yet which often dwells in the same 
breast. It is obsequiousness and servility. It is the 
union of these two repellent traits which makes the gen- 
uine snob — a character which, if we are to credit their 
own writers, abounds in England. Kowhere on earth, 



72 SUMMER PICTURES. I 

unless it be in the most despotic Asiatic empires, is there 
a more servUe worship of rank. An American can 
hardly believe his senses when he sees the abasement of 
soul which seizes the middle classes in the presence of a 
lord. They look up to him as a superior being, with a 
reverence approaching to awe. The very men who 
carry their heads so high to foreigners, he sees now 
sinking into the dust of humility, and his previous re- 
sentment turns into disgust and contempt. "Ah ha!" 
he exclaims, scornfully, "This is the great English na- 
tion ! It is a nation of snobs — insolent to all whom they 
think they can insult with impunity, yet cowed and 
cringing to the lowest degree before their own mas- 
ters." 

This servility gives' the American a brave chance to 
retort the taimts which he hears in regard to slavery : 
" Slavery ! where is there more slavery than in England 
— slavery, not indeed of the body, but of the soul? 
The worship25ers of the Grand Lama are not more abject 
and servile adorers of power than these boasting Brit- 
ons, that never, never will be slaves !" 

" Hear them prate about freedom and humanity ! It 
is all disgusting cant. Humanity ! What do they care 
for humanity ? A true respect for man is not known in 
the British Islands. It is rank and power that are wor- 
shipped. But for simple manhood there is not even 
common respect. If a stranger crosses their j^ath, the 
first question is not, What is he ? but who is he ? What 



WORSHIP OF RANK. V3 

is his name and family? It is not cnongli that upon 
every feature God hath set his seal to give the world 
assurance of a man. Eve;i transcendent genius, the in- 
spiration of the Almighty, is nothing compared Avith 
noble blood, though it be blood that has been defiled 
and corrupted by flowing through generations of profli- 
gate ancestors !" 

This degrading class worship does not exist merely 
in the imagination of a stranger. It is the lament of 
every man of high spirit in England, and the butt of 
constant sarcasm and ridicule. What are the novels of 
Thackeray but stinging satires upon that snobbery of 
which England is full ? Who has written in more bit- 
ter scorn of this flunkeyism — as he calls it— than Kings- 
ley? Perhaps the eyes of literary men are sharpened by 
a keen sensibility to their own position. The position 
of a literary man in England, it has been said, is " a hell 
of humiliations." Conscious of great powers, they feel 
that they are entitled to the first social position in their 
country as they are at the head of its intellect. And 
yet they find themselves set back in the second or third 
i-ank, far behind men who are not worthy to untie the 
latchet of their shoes. Yet such is the overshadowing 
230wer of rank, that even those who protest against* it, 
who try to scorn it and satirize it, still bow to its influ- 
ence. Even Thackeray is accused of stooping to play 
the courtier in noble houses. It is said tauntingly — I 
know not if truly — that he seeks more the smile of lords 

4 



74 SUMMEE riCTUKES. 

and ladies than to touch the great heart of England, and 
would rather be admitted to their society than be the 
first literary man in the realm. ■ 

Can anything be more degrading than a class spirit 
which thus eats out the manliness of the noblest minds, 
and which humbles the great middle class, which is a 
nation's glory and strength ? It is humiliating to see a 
spirit so abject in a nation that has so many titles to our 
reverence ; that has acted so grand a j^art in history, 
and that still stretches out her imperial arm to rule a 
large part of the four quarters of the globe. 

I have put in the foreground these harsher traits of 
English manners, because they are those which first 
strike the eye of a foreigner, and which create such a 
violent antipathy to the whole people, amounting in 
some of my countrymen to a perfect Angloi^hobia. I 
know that manners are not character. But they are its 
most natural index and expression. And these diversi- 
ties of address — now brusque and rude, and now gra- 
cious and condescending — are interpreted by foreigners 
as signs of that imperious temper, which they believe is 
natural to every Englishman ; that lofty consciousness 
of his own greatness, and disdain of the rest of mankind, 
w^hich is the presiding sentiment of his thoughts, the 
very centre and core of his soul, the spinal column of his 
character. This may be a rash and hasty judgment, but 
Brother Jonathan decides quickly, and speaks his mind 



BETTER QUALITIES. 75 

ill no ambiguous manner, and I'll venture, if you were 
to ask one of these plain-spoken Yankees — after he has 
travelled a week or two in England — what he thinks of 
great John Bull, he would answer in terms more forci- 
ble than elegant, Cold as ice, and proud as Satan ! 

Nothing is more useless than to combat an inveterate 
national prejudice, especially when it has a partial basis 
of truth, as this has, in the reserved and distant English 
manners. The only hope is, that a better acquaintance 
may correct the first unfavorable impression. But the 
misfortune of most Americans who come to England is, 
that they do not remain long enough in the country to 
see anything of the interior of its social life. They spend *^ 
but a few weeks travelling through all parts of Great 
Britain. They are mere birds of passage, on their way ^ 
to the sunnier clime of the south of Europe. Of course, 
their acquaintance with the people— if such it deserves to 
be called — is of the slightest. Meeting them only on 
the great lines of travel, on railways, and at hotels, they 
see only the outside, and the rough side, of the English 
character. And so their first impressions remain with 
them to the last. 

The partial knowledge thus acquired, serves rather to 
mislead than to enlighten. To judge the Enghsh justly, 
one should know them well, or not at all. Half know- 
ledge is worse than no knowledge, since it serves only 
to create prejudice. And to know the English well, one 
should know the homes of England, for it is there that 



Y6 SUMMER PICTURES. 

the national character comes out truest and best. Could 
our testy countryman, who rides over the fair face of 
this island in a railway carriage, discussing the while 
Slavery and Repudiation, come down from his flymg 
car and visit yonder cottages by the hedge rows, and 
those princely villas under the ancestral oaks, and see 
the interior life of English families, he would soon 
change his opinion, for he would find there much to 
admire and to love. He would find this people, so cold 
in appearance, full of domestic virtues. No man on 
earth has stronger household afiections than an English- 
man. IN"© man has a better governed family — children 
more respectful and obedient, and in no human habi- 
tation is there more mutual affection, more true love 
and happiness. 

One glimpse at such a domestic scene opens the eyes 
of a stranger to a new phase of English character. He 
finds, too, that when he is once admitted within that 
sacred pale, no reception could be more cordial. In fact, 
the very reserve which isolates an Englishman from 
those "with whom he is not acquainted," leads to a 
warmer and fuller outo'ushin^ of the heart in the chan- 
nels where it is permitted to flow. This people are, in- 
deed, shy of strangers. To have any claim on their 
good ofiices, you must come duly authenticated as in all 
respects a proper person. But when you are thus tick- 
eted and labelled, all doors fly open, and there is no end 
to English kindness and hospitality. 



ENGLISH HEARTS AND ENGLISH HOMES. 77 

Then comes out "the better soul" of an Englishman. 
The crusty manner is all gone, and the stranger finds 
that underneath this rough exterior lies concealed a 
nature soft and gentle as a woman's. Though his breast 
is bound round with thick ribs, they cover a great 
heart which beats with a strong and healthy motion. 
There is no man who does himself such, injustice as an 
Englishman. In appearance he is a rough and impassi- 
ble being, hard and cold as a rock. Yet deep within that 
living stone, there is a perennial spring of pure and 
noble feeling, and whoever can strike the rock, may 
make the waters flow. 

In the reaction of feeling produced by these new 
aspects of English character, one is apt to lean the other 
way, and no sooner is he well used to them, than he be- 
ghis to like some of John Bull's rough points, Avhich, 
like the knobs on the British oak, are the signs of sturdy 
strength. I cannot go to the extreme of those, who, 
after stoutly abusing John Bull, suddenly turn round and 
offer incense to him, and who now find something to ad- 
mire even in his red nose and his gouty toe ! But I can 
put up with blunt manners, when coupled with a true 
and manly heart. John Bull is an honest ft^llow, the 
world over. He will not lie, and pretend to be your 
friend, when he means to betray you. And though he 
treats you rather suspiciously at first, as if you had come 
about Lim to pick the old gentleman's pockets, when 
once he finds that you also are a true man, he gives you 



78 SUMMER PICTURES. 

his hand, and is a friend for life, ready to stand by you in 
all your quarrels, and to fight your battles for you. 

As for the English pride, it must be confessed that it 
is rather an unamiable trait. Yet even this has its good 
effect upon the general character. Pride is not always 
a bad quality, either in a nation or an individual. It 
produces self respect and a scorn of baseness, and where 
not carried to inordinate excess, it sits well on the char- 
acter. In a nation it produces a dignity of public ac- 
tion. For one thing I admire the pride of England. It 
makes her nobly indifferent to the opinion of the world. 
There is something grand in the repose of the British 
lion. A hundred petty creatures may seek to worry 
him, may pull his mane, and almost tweak his royal 
nose, yet the king of beasts does not move a muscle. 
Would that our country had a little of this calm self- 
respect, which is inspired by conscious power — a proud 
disdain of that foreign criticism, to which she now ap- 
pears so absurdly sensitive ! 

And this suggests a prudent reflection on ourselves, 
which may check a harsh judgment of our neighbors. 
It may be said of nations, as of individuals, Let him that 
is without sin cast the first stone ! When tempted to 
reproach the English for their disagreeable traits, my 
tongue is checked by remembrance of our own deficien- 
cies. If English pride wounds our dignity, it is not 
more oftensive to good taste than American vanity. In- 
deed, it is the nobler quality of the two. Willingly 



ENGLISH HEARTS AND ENGLISH HOMES. 79 

would I exchange our national trait for that of the En- 
glish, or at least, " go half and half." 

As for the snobbery which we charge upon English- 
men, I think I have heard of such a thing even in the 
model republic. Are all men modest in America? Are 
all delicately considerate and respectful of the rights of 
others? Have we no upstarts among us, vulgar and 
insolent, taldng airs to themselves, and oblivious of their 
equals or their betters ? Perhaps it is safer not to invite 
comparisons. 

As for distinction of classes, we have none recognized 
by law, but have we no social distinctions? Just as 
truly as they have in England, only that the lines are 
not as broad, and the walls are not as high, and so the 
distinctions are not as permanent. They are founded 
also on other titles, whether higher or nobler it is for 
the world to judge. If it be unworthy of a great nation 
to give such distinction to the accident of birth, is it 
much more honorable in us to make a god of money ? 
There is something to be proud of in a loug line of noble 
ancestors, which may inspire a dignity in the character. 
But have we gained much by throwing down the idol 
of aristocracy, if we at once set up in its place a golden 
calf, to which we bid all men bow down and worshij) ? 
It is much easier to abolish the name of distinctions in 
society than to get rid of the thing. And we need to 
look well to it, that in banishing a hereditary nobility, 
we do not supj^ly its place by a more vulgar aristocracy. 



80 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

Of the greater claims of England, to tlie respect of 
the world — to the honor, the love, and the gratitude of 
mankind, I need not speak. Her history, is it not writ- 
ten on the face of the whole earth ? Nay, wherein we 
boast of our own greatness, do we not reflect glory upon 
her ? For, after all, is not England our mother ? Has 
not America, with all her youthful strength, and un- 
bounded hope, come out of her loins ? Let us, then, 
think kindly, nay, lovingly, and proudly, of that great 
people, in whose history our ancestors have borne a 
part, and to which we are still bound by the ties of one 
blood, one language, and one religion. 

When I think of all that England is — of her intelli- 
gence, learning, and virtue ; of her imiversities, founded 
centuries ago, and illustrated by great discoveries, and 
immortal names ; of her men of science, and of letters ; 
of her writers, Avho are the instructors, the delight, and 
the solace of all who speak the English tongue ; of her 
widely difl'used intelligence; of the general culture of 
mind, and refinement of manners ; of the valor of her 
sons, and the loveliness of her daughters ; of her ten 
thousands of happy. Christian homes — I think that this 
island is the very ark of the world, in which all that is 
most precious is enshrined. 



CHAPTER V. 

England and the Continent — Normandy— Dieppe — The Cliff, the 
Castle and the Beach — Rouen — Paris. 

An American is not fairly in Europe nntil he readies the 
Continent. England carries him back hundreds of years, 
far beyond the time of Columbus. Yet it has not quite 
the aspect of hoary antiquity with which it has been 
clothed in his imagination. It is not ancient and moss- 
grown. It has too many " modern improvements," and 
in this is too much like his own country. And it is not 
until he has left the Island, and sets foot upon the solid 
Continent, that he finds himself in contact Avith the old, 
old Avorld — "the world before the flood." But once here, 
the illusion is perfect. Here are old walls and towers, 
old castles and cathedrals, Avhich no rude hand of im- 
provement has been suifered to touch. Here they stand 
from century to century, grand and noble m their very 
decay, the mighty monuments of former generations. 

This diff'erence is acknowledged by intelligent En- 
glishmen. Says Ruskin : 

" I cannot find words to express the intense pleasure I 

have always in first finding myself, after some prolonged 

4* 81 



82 SUMMEK PICTURES. 

stay ill Eiiglflnd, at the foot of the old tower of Calais 
church. The large neglect, the noble unsightliness of it ; 
the record of its years written so visibly, yet without 
sign of weakness or decay ; its stern wasteness and gloom, 
eaten away by the Channel winds, and overgrown with 
the bitter sea grasses ; its slates and tiles all shaken and 
rent, and yet not falling ; its desert of brickwork full of 
bolts, and holes, and ugly fissures, and yet strong like a 
bare, brown rock ; its carelessness of what any one thinks 
or feels about it, putting forth no claim, having no beau- 
ty, nor desirableness, pride nor grace ; yet neither ask- 
ing for pity ; not, as ruins are, useless and piteous, feebly 
or fondly garrulous of better days ; but useful still, going 
through its own daily work — as some old fisherman 
beaten grey by storm, yet drawing his daily nets; so 
it stands, with no complaint about its past youth, in 
blanched and meagre massiveness and serviceableness, 
gathering human souls together miderneath it ; the 
sound of its bells for prayer still rolling through its 
rents ; and the grey peak of it seen far across the sea, 
principal of the three that rise above the waste of surfy 
sand and hillocked shore, the lighthouse for life, and 
the belfry for labor, and this for patience and praise. 

" I cannot tell the half of the strange pleasures and 
thoughts that come about me at the sight of that old 
tower ; for, in some sort, it is the epitome of all that 
makes the Continent of Europe interesting, as opposed 
to new countries ; and above all, it completely expresses 



ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT. 83 

that agedness in the midst of active life, which binds 
the old and the new into harmony. We in England 
have onr new streets, oni* new inn, our green shaven 
lawn, and our piece of ruin emergent from it — a mere 
specimen of the middle ages put on a bit of velvet car- 
pet to be shown, which, but for its size, might as well 
be on the museum shelf at once, under cover. But on 
the Continent, the Imks are unbroken between the past 
and the present, and in such use as they can serve for, 
the grey headed wrecks are suifered to stay with men ; 
while, in unbroken line, the generations of spared build- 
ings are seen succeeding each in its place. And thus in 
its largeness, in its permitted evidence of slow decline, 
in its poverty, in its absence of all pretence, of all show 
and care for outside aspect, that Calais tower has an infi- 
nite of symbolism in it, all the more striking because 
usually seen in contrast with English scenes expressive 
of feelings the exact reverse of these." 

In coming into France we had a wish to pass through 
the ancient province of Normandy. No part of the 
kingdom has been so closely connected with England 
from the time of the Conquest. The very coasts corres- 
pond, — the white chalk cliffs standing face to face on 
either side of the Channel. So instead of the more 
direct route from London to Paris, by Boulogne, we 
came down on the Brighton railway to Newhaven, and 
crossed to Dieppe, We w^ere not up to the quay before 



84 SirMMEB PICTUTRES. 

vre felt the foreign atmosphere. There was a crowd 
upon the shore, but not a man among them could be 
mistaken for a bluff and burly Briton, stout with beef 
and beer, with fece red and round as the harvest 
moon. Those lank limbs were never made in Eng- 
land. Even the officers of the law, that generally 
grow fit with dignity, had a lean and hungry look. 
The sjens d'annes, that stood to receive us on the quay, 
with their long swords and cocked hats, presented the 
same stiff appearance as in Hogarth's caricatures of the 
French a hundred years ago. . The women, too, clattered 
about with their wooden shoes and with the high caps 
of Xormandy ; and both men and women kept up a 
ceaseless jabber in a foreign tongue. 

Dieppe, like Dover on the English coast, has its white 
chalk cliff, 

"• Whose high and bending head 
Looks fearfully in the confined deep," 

and from its summit an old castle looks out far and wide 
upon the waters. It has, too, like Calais, its old church, 
that of St. Jacques, at the foot of whose tower a foreign 
pilcjrim can muse and meditate. 

Though now but a small fishing town, and visited by 
the fashionable world only for its sea bathing, Dieppe has 
been in its day a place of renown. Three hundred years 
aeo it was the chief seaport in France. It had its ships 
that made vovacres to the ends of the earth, and came 



DIEPPE — THE CLIFF AND CASTLE. 85 

back laden with the furs of Canada and the spices of 
Senegal. It had its merchant prince, who, like the lords 
of Venice, sent whole fleets to sea, in the person of 
Ango, the friend of Francis I., whose chateau is still 
seen near the town. But the rise of Havre, at the 
mouth of the Seine, led to the decline of Diejope ; till 
now it has not more than twenty thousand inhabitants. 
Still it is an important fishing port, and every year sends 
out a hundred or more of vessels for the cod and her- 
ring fisheries. Many are the hardy Norman sailors, 
who drop the line on the banks of NcAvfoundland. But 
its more imposing commerce has departed. The only 
trace it has left is seen in the small manufacture of ob- 
jects of ivory — a relic of its former trade with Africa — 
which are still oflered to the visitor in the little shops 
along the beach. 

But Dieppe has more stirring associations. Look up 
to the castle on the cliff. Two centuries and a half aero 
there was a stir on yonder heights, a hurrying of feet 
and tramp of armed men. Thither came the great 
Henry, when, forced to retreat before the army of the 
League, and almost driven out of the kingdom, he 
threw himself upon the fidelity of his "bons Dieppois." 
Left with only a little band of Huguenots to defend 
his person and his crown, he yet rode at their head 
with an unruffled brow, as serene and undaunted in 
defeat as in victory. Here he made his stand, and at 
the old castle of Arques, in a narrow valley four miles 



86 SUMMER PICTTJEES. 

from the town, with but four thousand trusty Protestants, 
he defeated the whole army that had marched against 
him, thirty thousand strong — a decisive battle, which 
made Henry of Navarre, King Henry IV. of France. 

Still later, in the war of the Fronde, fled to this 
castle the Duchess de Longueville, so famous for her 
beauty and her ambition. Fearing that she could not 
find safety in France, she took refuge in this old tower on 
the coast, from whose jutting precipice, if need were, 
she could, like a dauntless Roman matron, throw herself 
into the sea. To this eyrie she was pursued, and she 
clambered down the rocks by night, trusting herself to 
the darkness and the stormy coast, rather than fall into 
the power of her enemies. After a succession of perils 
and marvellous escapes, she at length found safety in 
Holland. 

These are brave memories which float around yonder 
towers. But now gentler forms come stepping over 
the sands as we walk here at sunset. At the foot of 
the giant cliff a soft and shelly beach reaches out into 
the sea, which is one of the most famous resorts for 
bathers on all the coasts of France. As we look off 
pensively at the deep, gentle forms come stealing out of 
the twilight, forms tenderly beloved in other years. 
Those who then disported in the surf are gone now, and 
the waters have Avashed away their footsteps. But 
others folloAV, as gay and gladsome as they. To us this 
w^hole scene presents a contrast which illustrates the 



NOEMANDY. 87 

two extremes of the French spirit — emblems of glory and 
war, frowning over the spot where children and maid- 
ens trip with merry feet. It is a true picture of France 
— that grand old castle standing, dark and solemn, 
against the evening sky, while a group of bathers go 
leaping and laughing on the sands below. 

The next day we came on from Dieppe to Rouen, 
through the heart of this ancient j^i'ovince, one of the 
most picturesque portions of old France. The scenery 
along the route is not grand, but it is exquisitely beau-- 
tiful. The road winds through valleys of the softest 
green, along the banks of streams that murmur gently 
beneath their overhanging willows. The hill-sides are 
covered not with vines, but with orchards, for Nor- 
mandy is a part of France, in w^iich the national 
beverage of wine gives place to homely cider. These 
orchards give, the country an apj^earance not unlike that 
of New England. I can hardly picture to your eye the 
softness of these landscapes as they glided past. To us 
they had a charm beyond their natural beauty, in tender 
memories that sprung like grass from the green turf 
beneath our feet. Mrs. F. spent a part of her childhood 
in Normandy, and now associations of early years rose 
up from these valleys, like morning dews exhaled upon 
the balmy air. But I cannot convey to another all the 
brightness of that day. Its sunshine is lingering in my 
memory yet. 



88 SUMMER PICTUBES. 

Rouen detained ns five or six hours. It is a quaint 
and curious old city, with its narrow, winding streets, 
and high, gabled houses ; but a place of unusual historical 
interest. It was the ancient capital of Xormandy. In 
the Palace of Justice is still shown the chamber in which 
the Parliament met. Here lived William the Con- 
queror, and after he had planted his Xormans on the 
coast of England, here he came back to die. In the 
Museum of Antiquities is still preserved a letter signed 
by his royal hand, or rather marked by his cross, for the 
*Conqueror of England could not write his name ! Here, 
too, was the home of Pichard Coeur de Lion, who at his 
death bequeathed to Rouen his lion heart, which is still 
kept as a sacred relic in the cathedral. 

But it is not of WilHam nor of Richard that Ave think 
most as we drive over these pavements, but of the maid 
of Orleans, Joan of Arc, who, after leading the armies ol 
her country, here came to the end of her career. More 
than four centuries have passed since the victorious Eng- 
lish kindled the fires for the captured girl in one of the 
squares of Rouen ; and still the city derives its chief his- 
torical interest from the tragic fate of the heroic maid, and 
still every stranger comes as a pilgrim to her monument. 

Rouen is rich in churches. The cathedral is one of 
the grandest piles of the middle ages. Especially is 
every beholder struck with admiration of its fiigade, so 
broad and high, and carved with the richest tracery. 
But stni more beautiful to me was the church of St. 



EOtTEN — PARIS. 89 

On en, so named from the patron saint of the city. 
Though not so large as many of the continental cathe- 
drals, it is one of the most perfect specimens of Gothic 
architecture in Europe. Notwithstanding its great size, 
the impression on the beholder is one of airy lightness 
and grace. The long nave i^ lined by slender columns 
which rise to a great height, and from which the arches 
spring upward, like elm branches, so that it seems as if the 
vaulted roof would soar to the skies. We spent a long 
time in wandering about this beautiful edifice, not only 
straying through the long-drawn aisles, and musing over 
old tombs and monuments, but ascending to the galleries 
and the roof. A hundred feet above the pavement, the 
thick walls are pierced by a narrow corridor, through 
which one may pass around the whole edifice. Here 
came the monks from a neighboring convent, and stood 
in their black robes, looking down upon the worshippers 
below, and listening to the solemn chanting as it floated 
upward. Here we now stood and looked down to the 
stone pavement, on which men showed like pigmies as 
they walked about. From the galleries Ave passed out 
upon the roof, and ascended the toAver, from which Ave 
overlooked the squares and gardens of the city, and the 
hills, and the Seine Avhich far beloAv Avas Avinding its Avay 
to the sea. 

The same evening we came on to Paris, keeping the 
course of the river. The valley of t]ie Seine presents 
many beautiful pomts, several of AA^hich I recognized as 
those from Avhich Turner had taken the most charming 



90 SUMMER PICTURES. 

landscapes in his Rivers of France. Every step was 
over historic ground. Ruined castles, here and there 
crowning a distant hill-top, were hoary with legends of 
the past. Yonder lofty rock, to which the river bends 
as if to j)ay it tribute, was the stronghold of Richard 
Coeur de Lion. There he built the Chateau Gaillard, 
and from that eminence he surveyed with the eye of a 
conqueror the broad valley of the Seine. After his 
death' this impregnable fortress was taken. But while 
he lived none dared to disturb the lion in his lair. 

Farther on we see a mansion standing modestly m the 
valley, whose plain brick walls now reflect the settuig 
sun. That is the Chateau of Rosny, where the great 
minister Sully was born, and where he was often visited 
by his royal master Henry lY. You have read the 
stirring poem of Macaulay on the battle of Ivry. It 
may therefore interest you to know that King Henry of 
Navarre slept under that roof on the night after that 
glorious day. Thus recalling the scenes and characters 
of histor}^, we rode on past other chateaus and villages, 
and through the forest of St. Germain, till at a late 
hour we entered the walls of Paris. It was near mid- 
night when we left the station. But the streets were 
brilliantly lighted, crowds were walking on the Boule- 
vards, and everything marked the gay French capital. 
Our carriage soon whirled us into the magnificent Rue 
de Rivoli, and under the arched way into the courtyard 
of the great Hotel du Louvre. 



CHAPTER VI. 

CuANGES OP Ten Years in the French Capital — The Republic 

DESTROYED LOUIS NaPOLEON IMPROVEMENTS IN THE CiTY — NeW 

Buildings, New Squares and New Streets — Enlargement of 
THE City Walls — Military Regime — The Imperial Guard — 
Zouaves and Chasseurs — Chances of Revolution — Feeling of 
THE Nation towards the Emperor — Will the Empire Last ? 

Paris, July 8, 1858. 
We have now been two weeks in Paris, but every 
day has been so occupied with seeing sights and seeing 
friends, that we have not found an hour to write to 
America. It was not with the feehng of strangers, but 
rather of exiles returning to their country, that we 
entered Paris again, after an absence of ten years. You 
know that it was Mrs. F.'s native city, and that here she 
spent all her early life. You know, too, that I also 
passed here the winter of 1847-8, and was a witness of 
the Revolution in which Louis Philippe was overthrown. 
So to both of us these streets were full of the associa- 
tions of other days. But we find the French capital 
much changed both politically and externally. When I 
left, the republic had been established on the ruins of the 
monarchy; Cavnignac was at the head of affairs, and 

91 



92 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

the ISTational Assembly was engaged in consolidating 
democratic institutions. Now every trace of tlie repub- 
lic has disappeared ; the old statesmen and generals are 
dead or in exile. A few, like Guizot and Thiers, are 
permitted to remain in Paris, but they are wholly desti- 
tute of power and political influence. They live very 
retired and devote themselves to literary pursuits. And 
one man who was then known only as a Quixotic adven- 
turer, is now the sole and absolute master of France. 

Whatever might be the previous opinions of Louis 
Napoleon, all must now concede his great ability. He 
has grasped the reins of power with a strong hand, and 
has infused energy and vigor into every department of 
the government. Immense labor and expense have 
been devoted to the embellishment of the capital. The 
whole city seems to be in a process of reconstruction. 
I see here more openmg of new streets, more tearmg 
down of old houses, and more building of new ones, 
than in New York. The old parts of Paris, where the 
streets were the narrowest, and the houses the highest, 
and the population the densest and the poorest, have 
been pierced by long and broad avenues. The new 
Bovilevard of Sebastopol has been cut right through the 
heart of Paris, connecting the opposite banks of the 
Seine, and the northern and southern divisions of the 
city. Whole blocks of decayed rookeries, which had 
been the refuge of squalid misery for generations, have 
been swept away, and given place to open squares, with 



IMPROVEMENTS IN THE CITY. 93 

gardens, and trees, and fountains. The great work 
of connecting the Palace of- the Tuileries with the 
Louvre, which several sovereigns have attempted, 
has at last been completed, and the Rue de Rivoli, the 
magnificent street of arcades, which before skirted the 
garden of the Tuileries, has now been extended through 
the whole length of Paris. One of the blocks which 
was removed in these changes is now occupied by our 
hotel, the Grand Hotel du Louvre, which almost merits 
a descri^^tion by itself, as one of the public edifices of 
Paris. It is probably the finest hotel in Europe. It 
occupies a whole square, facmg the New Louvre on one 
side, and the Palais Royal on the other. Our room looks 
out upon the Rue de Rivoli; the Louvre is just across 
the street, and the Tuileries but a few rods distant. 
We step out of our windows on the balcony, and our 
view reaches eastward to the Hotel de Yille, and beyond 
to the column which marks the place of the Bastille, and 
westward over the trees of the Champs Ely sees, to 
where the setting sun lights up the Arch of Triumj^h. 
Still beyond lies the Bois de Boulogne, the fivorite 
drive of the Parisians, which has been laid out anew and 
greatly embellished, to which thousands are pouring out 
at this hour to enjoy a walk or ride amid lawns, and 
lakes, and woods. 

Another improvement is projected, which will give 
the city still grander proportions. It is the enlargement 
of the walls to nearly double their present circumfer- 



94 SUMMER PICTURES. 

ence. Like most continental cities, Paris levies an 
octroi^ or city duty, on all provisions brought in from 
the country. This tariff yields a revenue of many mil- 
lions, out of which are paid, in large part, the new 
improvements. To prevent any contraband traffic, the 
city is surrounded with an octroi wall, and officers keep 
watch on every vehicle, whether cart or carriage, that 
enters in at the gates. This duty is of course a heavy 
tax upon living in Paris, to escape which many of the 
poorer classes have moved without the walls, where pro- 
visions are cheaper. The reconstructions now going on, 
in which their old quarters have been torn down, have 
driven tho.usands of poor families into these suburbs, 
and thus has grown up outside of the city proper a 
population numbering, it is said, nearly four hundred 
thousand. 

Beyond this octroi wall, at a distance of from half 
a mile to a mile and even two miles, is the line of the 
city fortifications, constructed by Louis Philippe, at 
enormous exi^ense, with broad walls and a deep moat. 
It is in the girdle between these walls that is collected 
this vast surburban population. It is now proposed to 
throw down the octroi wall, and extend the city to the 
line of the fortifications. Of course the project raises a 
great outcry among the poor, who would find themselves 
at once subjected to pay city prices for their food. But 
it is said that this will be compensated in part by a 
diminution of other taxes. The main argument for the 



MILITARY EEGIME. 05 

change is, that this region without the walls, the ban- 
lieue, as it is called, has become the resort of all the 
most desperate characters of Paris, and that to keep them 
in check, it is necessary to bring them nnder municipal 
regulations, and the strict Avatch of the city police. 

But whatever the motive, the effect will be to give to 
Paris majestic proportions. At one stroke it will nearly 
double the area within the walls, giving the city a dia- 
meter of from seven to nine miles, and increasing the 
population from twelve to sixteen hundred thousand 
souls ! Those who have projected this vast expansion 
of the capital, have laid out the new plan of Paris on a 
scale of magnificence well fitted to dazzle the Imperial 
imagination. Thus the city is to have ninety-eight 
gates, the number of portals to ancient Thebes, and the 
design would seem to be to recall the grandeur of ancient 
Babylon or of imperial Rome. 

These changes are fast making Paris the most splen- 
did capital in Europe. And yet it is easy to see that 
they have been made with an eye to something more 
than beauty. They are designed also for a military pur- 
l^ose. Almost every new square has a huge barrack 
frowning over it. Every public edifice has a wide space 
cleared around it, so that it could be occupied by troops, 
and the people could have no means of approach, and no 
shelter in case of attack. Thus the Hotel de Ville, the 
seat of the municipal government of Paris, which in 
every revolution is the great centre to be gained, has 



96 SUMMER PICTUKES. 

been completely isolated from other buildings, while in 
front, the opposite side of the Place de Greve is occu- 
pied by edifices devoted to offices of State, and in the 
rear has just been erected a Ime of barracks, and both 
these ranges of buildings communicate with the Hotel 
de Ville by subterranean j)assages, so that the whole 
could be turned into a vast fortress in the very heart of 
the city. The thick and populous quarters, which have 
been the hotbeds of cons2:)iracy and insurrection, are 
now intersected by great avenues which could easily be 
swept by artillery ; and they are so separated from each 
other, that, in case of an emeute, any faubourg or 
infected district could be surrounded with troops and 
girdled with fire. The main streets, too, have been 
Macadamized, and the large paving stones Avhich made 
such formidable barricades, have been taken away from 
the reach of future insurgents. 

All this is admirably planned and shows the emperor 
to be a thorough master of strategy. It would seem to 
render another revolution impossible. To guard against 
any attempt, troops are always at hand. The streets of 
Paris wear a military aspect almost as much as if the 
city were in a state of siege. Every morning we hear 
the roll of drums and the blast of the trumpet coming 
up to our windows, and from the balcony we look do"\^^l 
on a forest of bayonets, as some regiment is marched 
from one end of Paris to the other. Drills and jjarades 
are of daily occurrence. If you choose to ride out to 



THE IMPERIAL GUARD, ZOUAVES AND CHASSEURS. 97 

Vincennes, you may witness twice a week the artillery 
practice. And every few weeks there is a grand 
review in the Champ de Mars. This military array 
shows on what the ruler of France relies for the main- 
tenance of his power. Certainly, with a garrison of 
80,000 men, which could easily be concentrated in Paris, 
any unorganized, tumultuous insurrection would stand 
but a small chance of success. 

But there is always another possibility — if not of a 
popular revolution, of a military one. As the Roman 
legions crowned and uncrowned emperors, so Napo- 
leon III. could not mahitain himself for a day, if the 
army were to become disaffected. Such a revolt is not 
very probable. For he takes the greatest pains .to win 
the attachment of his soldiers. And yet military men 
think he has made one grand mistake, in reviving the 
Imperial Guard, formed by his uncle. This is composed 
of twenty-five thousand picked men, the elite of the 
cavalry, infantry, and artillery. These are the favorite 
regiments. They receive higher pay than the main 
body of the army, and are assigned to the most favored 
duty, being kept in Paris, and about the Palace. The 
pet corps are the Zouaves and the Chasseurs. I never 
go to the Palais Royal without remarking the fine- 
looking Chasseurs Avho are on guard about the present 
residence of the Prince Jerome. And every morning, I 
see the Zouaves drawn up in the court of the Louvre, 
looking, in their red turbans and broad Turkish trowsers, 



98 SUMMER PICTURES. 

like so many wild Arabs that have just come out of the 
desert. These are among the finest soldiers in the 
world. Their bravery has been attested in many a hard- 
fought conflict among the mountams of Algeria, or 
under the walls of Sebastopol. I never j^ass them with- 
out stoj^ping to look with admiration on the gallant fel- 
lows who dashed with such fury on the batteries of the 
MalakoflT. 

Of course these faithful dogs of war become attached 

to the hand that caresses them. But this marked favor 

to them offends other divisions of the army, which deem 

themselves neglected. I am told that this Imperial 

Guard has given very great offence to the regular troops 

of the line, and this becomes a serious matter when the 

affront is offered to half a million of armed men ! So 

violent was the jealousy which it occasioned in the late 

war, that the different corps could hardly be restrained 

from attacking each other. To calm the rising storm, 

Pehssier had to push forward the Zouaves and the 

Chasseurs in every perilous attack during the siege of 

Sebastopol, thus showing that if they enjoyed special 

honors, they must pay for them by special dangers. So 

frequent and so great were their exposures that one third 

of their whole number was killed. By this murderous 

sacrifice, he allayed the general irritation. Thus the 

excitement was quelled for the time, but where such a 

magazme exists, the sfightest spark may produce an 

explosion. 



CHANCES OF EEVOLUTION. 99 

A gentleman who had lately been in Algeria, com- 
municated to nie another fact, which seemed to me very 
menacing — that there existed throughout that colony 
a very general disaffection towards the government. 
He was surprised at the freedom with which not only 
civilians, but officers in the army, expressed their convic- 
tion that the present state of things in Paris could not 
last long. The old African soldiers are warmly attached 
to the family of Orleans, and would gladly exchange the 
present emperor for a son or grandson of Louis Philippe. 
These facts show that a defection in the army is by no 
means impossible. 

A popular insurrection in Paris, as I have said, would 
stand no chance at all against the troops, if they stood 
firm, and were resolute to put it down. But in the case 
of a people so impulsive as the French, it is impossible to 
calculate the effect of a sudden frenzy of the public mind, 
such as might be provoked by an extreme act of 
tyranny, the imprisonment of a popular favorite, or in 
case of foreign war, by the loss of a battle which should 
be ascribed to the incapacity or mismanagement of the 
government. Any one of these might cause such an 
explosion of popular indignation as nothing could with- 
stand. 

A manifestation of the national will, so imposing, 
might paralyze the best troops in the world, even if they 
were not demoralized before. The people might ru,sh to 
arms, and the soldiers — not cowed, but awe-struck, might 



100 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

hesitate to fire upon their o^vn countrymen, and finally, 
as in 1848, end by going over to their side. In that 
case this whole magnificent array of defences might be 
turned against the hand that erected them. I mention 
these contmgencies, not as being very likely to happen, 
but as by no means impossible. I have seen one revolu- 
tion in Paris, which came so suddenly and with so little 
apparent cause, that it has greatly shaken my con- 
fidence in the stability of any government in France. 

But you will ask, how do the people like this iron 
rule ? Most foreigners can give you no intelligent 
answer to this question, for the press is muzzled, and 
Frenchmen do not open their minds to strangers. They 
do not speak on politics except m private and behind 
closed doors. But we are not foreigners in Paris. A 
large acquamtance makes us at home in many French 
families, and to us they express their opinions more 
freely. And yet, after hearing all, we are not in a much 
better j^osition to form a judgment than those who hear 
none ; for the opinions exj^ressed are totally contradic- 
tory. We find that every m-an approves or condemns 
the imperial rule, just as it happens to afiect his private 
interest, or to cross his old prejudices. The Legitimists 
of course think there will be no settled order in France 
until the Bourbons are again seated on the throne ; and 
the Republicans thmk that there can be no liberty 
until kings and emperors alike are sent about their busi- 
ness. But interest is even stronger than prejudice. 



WILL THE EMPIEE LAST? 101 

If an artist finds his profession does not flourish, he 
thinks it is owing to a want of patronage by the court, 
and this of course dictated by jealousy of his genius. 
If a tradesman finds his branch of business sufiering, he 
curses the government. On the other hand, those who 
are prosperous bless the strong hand, which has at last 
given to France that order which is the first condition 
of successful industry. A prosperous merchant tells us : 
" Napoleon is my man. We have made more jirogress 
under him in ten years than m fifty years before." 
Another who is an employe in a public administration, 
and who feels that his bread depends on the stability of 
the government, says, " I would descend into the street 
to-morrow to fight for him." Another, who is an artist, 
and a man of letters, cannot bear to hear the name of 
the Emperor mentioned, and speaks of him with the 
utmost contempt, always calling him "this parvenu — 
this felloio whom we have got at the head of afiairs !" 
An American gentleman here, the other day went to his 
banker, who was probably a legitimist and regretted the 
old regime, and while there, playfully asked him how he 
liked the master of France ? The old Frenchman's eyes 
flashed fire, and he fairly trembled with rage as he 
hissed through his teeth, " They will kill him !" 

From these contrary opinions you may judge how 
difiicult it is to form anything like a fair estimate of the 
public opinion of France. In fact there is no public 
opinion in France. There are millions of private 



102 SUMMER PICTURES. 

opinions, but where there is not free speech and a free 
press, as in England and America, public opinion cannot 
exist. The only verdict which the nation has ever 
given is recorded in its vote. And here the fact stands 
before the world, that three times has the nation by an 
immense majority elevated this man to the supreme 
power. 

From all this you may conclude that nothing is cer- 
tain in France but uncertainty. And such is the general 
feeling of the most intelligent and thoughtful observers 
of affairs. Ask a Frenchman what he thinks of the 
political prospects of his country, and the answer is gen- 
erally a significant shrug, and a confession that nothing 
is certain for a month to come. And yet there is a gen- 
eral impression that there will be no change during the 
life of the present ruler of France. Such is the prestige 
which he has obtained for talent and energy, such is the 
popularity of his name, such the attachment of the army, 
and such the dread among all classes of the terrible pos- 
sibilities of another revolution^ that I think the vast 
majority of the nation would prefer to rest secure under 
his strong hand, rather than plunge mto any unknown 
future. 



CHAPTER VII. 

The American Chapel in Paris. 

Paris, July 10, 1858. 

0:ne of the most jDleasant things which has come under 
our observation in Paris, is the new American chapel, re- 
cently erected here, by the generous contributions of a 
few residents in this city, aided by the liberality of friends 
at home, chiefly, I believe, in New York, and Boston, 
and Philadelphia. The want of such a place of worship 
in the French capital, had long been felt. There were 
several English churches and chapels, besides that attached 
to the Embassy. Yet there has not been a single place 
of worship which could serve as a place of Christian 
reunion for our countrymen, though thousands of Ameri- 
cans visit Paris every year. But there were many diffi- 
culties in the way of its estabhshment. Of the swarms of 
our countrymen who annually flock to Paris, the vast ma- 
jority are merely travellers, who only take this city in their 
way to Switzerland or Italy. They stay but a few days, 
lodging in hotels, not long enough to form any acquaint- 
ance, or to seek out a Protestant place of worshij). Occa- 
sionally families come to spend a winter. But of these a 
large part are in search merely of pleasure and amuse- 



104 SUMMEK PICTURES. 

ment, and are much more disposed to fall into the ways 
of the gay peoj^le among whom they are, than to remem- 
ber the God of their fathers, and to meet devoutly for 
His worship. The only nucleus of a congregation must 
be found in the Americans who have been brought to 
Paris by business, which keeps them here for a few years, 
and who may thus be considered as more permanent 
residents. But of these probably one half feel no in- 
terest in any such service. Still, there is a little remnant 
who are religiously disposed, and who would be glad on 
the Sabbath to join in worship in their own tongue in 
which they were born. But here again is a difficulty. 
These few religious families belong to different commu- 
nions, and each prefers its own order and mode of 
worshij^. 

All these causes together rendered the prospect most 
discouraging, and for a time it seemed that the project, 
however desirable in itself, was hopeless of accomplish- 
ment. Thus it would have remained in suspense or un- 
attempted, but for the wise sagacity of the American 
and Foreign Christian Union, which had long looked 
upon Paris as its most important field in all Europe. 
By its earnest solicitation, Rev. Dr. Kirk, of Boston, 
was prevailed upon to leave his church for a few months, 
to come out to Paris, to organize a congregation and 
commence the erection of a church. Thus supported at 
home, a few American residents here took com-age to 
begin the work. 



THE AMEBIC AN CHAPEL IN PARIS. 105 

This little band was composed of members of several 
different communions, but their earnest spirit led them to 
yield in some degree their individual preferences for the 
sake of the important result to be secured. These united 
with the understanding, . that the service should be 
partly Episcopal, and partly of that more simple form 
which is common in other Protestant churches. They 
designed to lay down a platform broad enough for all 
evangelical Christians to stand upon ; and to establish a 
church in which not only Episcopalians and Presby- 
terians, but Congregationalists, and Methodists, and 
Baptists, and Lutherans, and the Reformed Dutch, 
should feel equally at home. The ministers of all were 
to be admitted to the pulpit, and the members of all wel- 
comed to the communion. On this broad and truly Catho- 
lic basis, subscriptions were raised to erect a chapel. The 
Americans in Paris gave most liberally, and their efforts 
were nobly responded to by friends in New York. The 
Foreign Christian Union advanced twenty thousand dol- 
lars towards the enterprise, and so the work was begun. 
The labors of Dr. Kirk wei'e most useful ; but after a few 
months he was obliged to return to his very important 
charge in Boston, and the Society remained without a 
pastor, until in February, Rev. Mr. Seeley, late of Spring- 
field, Mass., who had been appointed his successor, ar- 
rived to recommence the work. The chapel was still 
unfinished. But it was now pushed forward rapidly, and 
in May the congrescation had the great happinessof dedi- 

5* 



106 . SUMMER PICTUEES. 

eating it to the worship of God, in the presence of the 
American Minister, and a large assembly of his coimtry- 
men. On this occasion the pastor preached an appro- 
priate discourse on the subject of Christian Unity, and 
thus auspiciously was inaugurated this most important 
enterprise. 

The chapel is situated in the Rue de Berri, near the 
Champs Elysees. The position is a good one, being near 
to the American embassy, and in the quarter, of Paris 
preferred by our countrymen. The building is of stone, 
as by law it could not be erected of diiferent materials. 
It is plain in its exterior, though very substantially built. 
The interior would, perhaps, seem a little too naked 
were it not for the ladies, who have united to cushion the 
pews, and who have thus given a little more comfort to 
the seats, as well as taste to the general appearance. One 
individual, also, has given an organ, and another a com- 
munion service. This is apart from their subscriptions 
to erect the edifice. 

But that which pleased me most was the asj^ect of the 
congregation, which was reverent and devout. Since the 
chapel was finished the attendance has been quite full, 
and the congregation is composed of the very best class 
of American residents in Paris. It was my privilege to 
be with them two Sabbaths, and I felt it a great happi- 
ness, thus far from home, to jom in the same prayers and 
hymns, and to listen to the same sacred words, which I 
had so often heard in my own happy. Christian land. 



THE AMERICAN CHAPEL IN PARIS. 107 

The service was partly Episcopal in its form. To this, 
some of our sturdy Presbyterian and Congregational 
brethren in America might object. But such should re- 
member that the majority of the congregation are Epis- 
copalians; that a very large part of the money to build 
the chapel was given by them ; and that the officers of 
the church are all of the same communion, ex necessitate^ 
since in the whole congregation there is not a single 
Presbyterian elder nor a Congregational deacon ! Surely 
it is but just that a proper respect should be paid to the 
preferences of these excellent brethren. Indeed, I am 
disposed to consider it a proof of very unusual liberality 
on .their part, that they were Avilling to meet with those of 
another communion on equal ground, and so far to yield 
to the wishes of others as to accept a Congregational 
pastor, and to consent that the services for half the time 
should be according to the most strict Puritan simj^hcity. 
But what will conduce to harmony, is the selection of 
a pastor, in which the church has been fortunate. Per- 
haps I speak not without partiality, for JMr. Seeley is a 
very dear personal friend. For four years we were set- 
tled side by side on the banks of the Connecticut, and 
there I learned to love him. But friendship apart, it 
does seem to me that a better choice could not have 
been made for a post which, it must be confessed, is in 
some respects a delicate and difficult one. He has great 
tact and good judgment to harmonize differences, and 
that earnestness in hig work, which unites all hearts in 



108 SUMMER PICTUKES. 

the one great object of doing good. He is an excellent 
preacher, and a faithful and laborious j^astor. From the 
great extent of Paris, his pastoral visits have to range 
over a distance of several miles. But he is unwearied in 
seeking out the scattered members of his flock, and in 
his kindness to strangers that come here, often without, 
an acquaintance or a friend. Hundreds of young men 
come to Paris from the United States to study medicine, 
and the influence of such a Christian pastor, in giving 
them good counsel, and guarding them against the snares 
to which they are exposed ; in showing kindness to those 
who are lonely and friendless ; in imparting consolation 
to those who are sick, or who may have come here to 
die, far from their country and home, cannot but be 
most happy. The congregation may not become a very 
large one, for the American population here is always 
floating, and it is difficult to give a fixed character to 
such an organization. But the amount of good done will 
be very great. 

I speak of its influence upon the Americans, for it is 
designed for them, and its influence must be chiefly 
among them. Some have imagined that this chapel was 
to be an engine of attack upon the Roman Catliolic 
Church. But that is entirely apart from its proper 
design. To begin such a crusade would be the height of 
folly, and in the present state of things, v>'Ould amount to 
suicide. Probably the chapel would be shut wp by the 
police in a week. Or if allowed to remain ojoen, it would 



THE AMERICAN CHAPEL IN PAEIS. 109 

only provoke opposition and bitterness. It may indeed 
exert an influence upon Roman Catholics. But it can only 
be the silent influence of example. And that will not be 
small, if its present constitution is continued, and it thus 
presents a spectacle of a union which brings together 
Christians of difi'erent nations, and of difl'erent commu- 
nions, to worship at the same altar. 

This peculiarity already excites observation and remark. 
It is€lie best answer to the constant reproach of Roman- 
ists about the divisions of Protestants. Let it stand 
therefore as a silent witness of the real, vital unity of all 
who truly hold the same Head, though not bound by one 
organization, and it will produce its eflect. It will be a 
symbol oithe true Catholic spirit of American Christianity. 

Nowhere is such a testimony to religion more needed 
than in Paris. The influences here which tend to dissi- 
pate all serious thought, are so many and so strong, that 
it is cheering to see a few w^ho have remained faithful, 
assembling in the midst of this population of a million of 
people, to keep holy the Sabbath day, to hear the Word 
of God, to sing the songs of Zion, and to strengthen each 
other in their vows of fidelity. Such a church, under the 
ministry of such a pastor, will be the means of rescuing 
many who have gone far astray amid the temptations of 
this gay capital, and of saving many more who shall 
come to it hereafter, and in all true American hearts, it 
%vill strengthen every sacred tie which binds them to 
Home, and Country, and Religion. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Holland — Face of the Country — Dikes and Canals — Energy op 
THE People — "Wealth and Commerce — Historical interest op 
Holland — Her Scholars and Painters — Wars for Liberty — 
Embarkation op the Pilgrims — Friendly Manners of the Peo- 
ple — How the Dutch enjoy themselves. 

Amsterdam, July l^th, 1858. 
When we were in England, it was our good fortune to 
meet — at one of those fomous dinners whicli Mr. Pea- 
body occasionally gives to his countrymen at the Star 
and Garter, Richmond — Mr. Motley, the historian of 
the Dutch Rej)ublic, and a conversation with him on 
the subject which he has so eloquently treated, strength- 
ened a desire which we had long felt, to visit Holland. 
This is not a country which is generally sought by tour- 
ists. Romantic travellers rush by it in their eagerness 
to reach the Rhine and Switzerland, scarcely casting a 
look across its dikes and canals. They think that a 
region so flat and monotonous, must be dreadfully com- 
mon place. They forget that a country does not derive 
its mterest from scenery alone, but from its people and 
its history, and that this small territory, which once was 
little better than a quagmire or a marsh, and that even 
now can hardly keep its head above water, has been occu. 
pied by one of the most powerful nations on the globe — 

110 



HOLLAND. Ill 

a nation that long disputed with England tiie mastery 
of the seas, and that stood side by side with England in 
defence of civil and religions liberty. If Holland can- 
not boast of the lakes and mountains of Switzerland, it 
is equally rich in that far higher interest which comes 
from proud historic associations, from memories of valor, 
patriotism, and religion. 

With these recollections fresh in mind, to impart in- 
terest to the new scenes we were to \dsit, we left Paris 
for the north, and passing through Catholic Belgium, 
entered Protestant Holland. From Antwerp to Rotter- 
dam the route is partly by railway, and partly by steam- 
boat along the river Maas (French Meuse), w^hose broad 
current flows through the south of Holland. Our first 
view of the country was from the elevation of the river y 
for, strange as it may seem, the river does afford a very 
convenient elevation, as its banks are w^alled in by high 
dikes on either side, so that the stream flows along the 
top of a ridge, quite above the level of the country ; 
and here, standing on the deck of a steamboat, one gets 
a pretty extensive view. The appearance of the coun- 
try itself has been made so familiar by Dutch paintings 
and by the letters of travellers, that it is needless to de- 
scribe it again. One picture will answer for the whole 
kingdom, for every landscape is the same. Certain uni- 
form features enter mto every view, and you can easily 
combine them in your eye and make a picture for your- 
self. Imagine a country so very flat that it actually 



112 SUMMER PICTURES. 

sinks the other way and becomes a little hollow ; or 
think of the most level prairie which you ever saw, and 
one of such extent that, as our Western friends would 
say, you are " out of sight of land," with not a hill or 
tree or shrub to break the boundless monotony. All 
round this huge pancake is a low crust, where the 
ground is turned up at the edges into dikes, and the 
whole space between is crossed and recrossed by canals, 
which always run in straight lines, somewhat as m the 
garden of Eden m the old family Bible, where the four 
rivers cross each other at right angles. To put life in 
the scene, these plains are covered with millions of black 
and white cattle, while the most conspicuous objects 
which rise above the line of the horizon are the wind- 
mills, which seem, like grim sentinels, to keep watch and 
ward over the country. They stand bolt upright, like 
so many doughty Dutchmen, with their long arms beat- 
ing the air and bidding defiance to every foe. 

That will answer for a description of the country. The 
cities are a little difierent, though not much, except that 
they have more houses, and that they wade deej^er in 
the water ; a large part of Amsterdam and Rotterdam 
being built on piles driven in the mud. 

Thus stranded at low tide, the honest Dutch have to 
lead a kind of amphibious existence. Thousands of the 
poorer classes live in boats on the canals, like the Chi- 
nese in their junks. And those on shore are never out 
of sio'ht of dikes and canals. A Yankee would thhik a 



DUTCH IDEAS OF BEAUTY. 113 

house thus perched on poles, with its under timbers 
soaking in the water, " slightly damp." But there is 
nothing like heing used to it. A Dutchman deems the 
prospect of still water an element of beauty in a land- 
scape, and if by possibiUty he is deprived of that pleasing 
»rision, his first care is to make an artificial pond or canal 
*>\ithin his own grounds. Give him the dry est piece of 
>and in all the Netherlands to build a house upon, 
xnd he will immediately dig a ditch before his door, that 
he may have a stagnant puddle to gladden his eyes and 
regale his nostrils. 

It is curious to observe what ideas of beauty people 
get who live in a country where nature is on such a 
scale. The day we came to Amsterdam was one of the 
hottest of summer, and we were glad to get to the end 
of our journey, for we rejoiced in the thought of a quiet 
inn, cool rooms and bountiful ablutions. 

" To what hotel do you go ?" said a fellow-traveller in 
the railway carriage. 

" To the Hotel des Pays Bas," I replied, as that stood 
first in the guide book. 

The gentleman recommended rather the Hotel Doelen. 
Turning again to Murray, I found the two set down as 
of equal excellence. But our courteous informant set 
forth the special advantage of the latter as commanding 
a fine "water view." That decided the question. Dus- 
ty and weary, we started at that glimpse of coolness like 
horses on the burning desert. The sight of a beautiful 



]14 SUMMER PICTURES. 

sheet of water under our windows would soothe our 
fevered pulses. We of course pictured to ourselves a 
broad and placid lake, or at least a river— something 
like the lake of Geneva, or the blue and arrowy Rhone. 
There we would sit at evenmg, and see the sun setting 
in the waves, or the moonhght covering them with sil- 
ver. With all speed we drove through the long streets 
of Amsterdam to this garden of delights, and instantly 
demanded a room with a balcony to overlook the en- 
chanting prospect. The landlord looked a little blank 
at our excited manner, but straight led the way to a 
spacious apartment. We rushed to the windows, when 
(may all the saints preserve us !) there was nothmg to 
be seen but a dirty canal, covered with cabbage leaves 
and geese (not swans), and anything but pleasant to sight 
or smell. We turned and looked at each other in blank 
dismay, but the next moment the joke of the thing put 
us in a gale of laughter. Happily the other promises 
of this hotel did not mock our hopes. If we found no 
lake or river, we did find excellent baths, which soon 
washed off all the dust of the Low Countries. Of other 
"creature comforts" it supplied all that one could 
desire. The servant brought us in a delicious tea, and 
letting the curtam fall to shut out the "water prospect," 
we sat down in the merriest mood. To add to our 
sense of dignity, we found that the Count de Chambord, 
the Bourbon heir to the throne of France, had just been 
spending three days here, and of course the odor of 



DIKES AND CANALS. 115 

royalty still lingered in the house, and imparted a slight 
flavor of gentility to all who patronized this aristocratic 
establishment. 

As might be expected, these watery foundations some- 
times give way, or sink a little too low, so that the 
houses suddenly become weak in the knees, and lean over 
like tottering old men, and to us it seemed at first as if 
they were going to pitch into the street, but still they 
held up their heads, and the people said they were quite 
secure, and they live in them without the slightest fear. 
But while the Avater is thus kept out of the houses, it is 
allowed to flow freely in the streets. In fact, the prin- 
cipal streets are merely quays, with a canal running 
through the middle, and a carriage road on either side. 
This good city of Amsterdam is thus divided into ninety- 
five islands, which are connected by no less than two 
hundred and ninety bridges ! No wonder that it seems 
like the first appearance of dry land, " standing out of 
the water and in the water," and that Erasmus should 
say that " he had reached a city, whose inhabitants, like 
crows, lived on the tops of trees." But the vigor 
and spirit of the people appear all the greater from the 
obstacles which nature puts in their way. The country 
has to fight for existence against the sea. Nor is it a 
danger which, once conquered, is forever subdued. It 
is always rising and threatenmg ruin. The necessity of 
guarding against the elements exists now as much as 
ever. Amsterdam is not secure for a day except as it 



116 SUMMER PICTURES. 

keeps up its defences against the innisliing of the sea. 
All round the city are reared colossal embankments to 
keep out the water. Last evening we drove along the 
dikes, which protect the city on the side of the Zuyder 
Zee, and were amazed at the height and solidity of these 
works, which reminded us of the walls and moat of the 
citadel of Antwerp). As we rode along in a carriage on 
the top of the dikes, we looked down at the people who 
were walkmg in the streets, not only far below us, but 
below the level of the water in the harbor. These great 
works of course require constant labor to keep them in 
repair. Watchfulness can never be relaxed, for the city 
is never free from danger. There is an enemy always at 
their gates, knocking and thundering for admission. 
When a great storm, or a long northwest wind raises 
the ocean above its usual level, and the tides dash and 
break against the walls of rock and earth, the danger 
becomes miminent, and the defences are watched night 
and day. Nothing but unceasing vigilance insures 
safety. This necessity of keeping up an armed force to 
watch the enemy, and a corps of sappers and miners, to 
drive him back, entails a vast expense on the city and 
the country. One-third of the whole revenue of Hol- 
land has to be applied to keeping up the dikes along the 
coast and the banks of the rivers — a sum amounting 
annually to three millions of dollars. 

With such natural disadvantages, it is a wonder that 
Holland ever attained any im^Dortance. It could not 



ENEEGY OF THE PEOPLE. Il7 

have been anything more than a desolate coast, furnish- 
ing a scanty Hving to a few poor fishermen, if it had not 
been ^^eopled by an indomitable race. But great obsta- 
cles, which crush the weak and indolent, call out all the 
force of the strong and the brave. And I am sure that 
it is partly this very fact of liavmg to wage a constant 
war with the elements, that has developed m the Dutch 
such a stubborn strength of will, such heroic industry 
and perseverance. This has made their country, so in- 
significant in territory, one of the most powerful king- 
doms in Europe, both upon land and sea. It is not so 
long ago, that England has forgotten how stoutly Hol- 
land disputed her naval supremacy ; how the Dutch 
sailed up the Medway, and burnt the fleet at Chatham, 
and how the thunder of their cannon in the Thames sent 
terror into the hearts of the people of London. But two 
hundred years have passed away since brave old Van 
Tromp defeated Admiral Blake, and sailed through the 
Channel in trium23h, with a broom nailed to his masthead, 
to signify that he had swept the English from the seas. 
It was with no small mterest that I saw in the museum 
at the Hague, the very armor that he wore in his battles, 
with more than one huge dent in its iron j^late, where 
grapeshot had struck that manly breast. 

The rival of England in war, Holland was her superior 
in commercial importance. Amsterdam succeeded" to 
Antwerp, as Antwerp had succeeded to Venice. Its 
commerce extended to all parts of the world. Its mer- 



118 SUMMER PICTURES. 

chants were princes. A monument of the wealth and 
power of those clays may be seen in the old Stadhuis, 
erected by the burghers of this city for their munici- 
pal government two hundred years ago, and which 
Louis Bonaparte, when king of Holland, occupied as his 
palace. To make a foundation, nearly 14,000 piles were 
driven 70 feet into the ground, and on this was reared 
a marble structure which cost, I do not dare to say, how 
many millions. 

That former ascendency of Holland has departed,. 
She is no longer the commercial centre of Europe. But 
she is still a country of vast wealth. The bankers of 
Amsterdam are among the richest on the continent. 
The foreign commerce is still imposing. In the Museum 
at the Hague, is a collection of articles from Japan, 
which shows the extent of the trade with that distant 
empire, which the Dutch alone of all European nations, 
have carried on for two hundred years. Rotterdam alone 
sends out near a hundred large ships a year, to the Dutch 
colony of Batavia. Our. hotel in Rotterdam was on the 
great quay, called the Boompjes, and from our windows, 
we looked down on the decks of stout merchantmen, 
fitting out for the East Indies, which, notwithstanding 
their peaceful purpose, were armed with formidable guns 
to keep off the Malay pirates. These crowded ports, 
and this forest of shipping, are signs of that vast foreign 
trade which stiU pours a stream of wealth into these 
broad lowlands. 



SCUOLAES AND PAINTERS. 119 

Nor was Holland, while thus rich and prosperous, un- 
distinguished in art and literature. The name of Eras- 
mus, whose monument stands on a public square of Rot- 
terdam his native city, is as emment in Holland, as that 
of Luther in Germany. The University of Leyden was 
one of the first in Europe, and has been distinguished by 
the studies and teachings of Grotius and Descartes, and 
by a long line of illustrious names. Her painters were 
equal to her scholars. Rembrandt is the glory of Am- 
sterdam, as Rubens was of Antwerp ; and he is but one 
of a whole school of Dutch painters, whose works not 
only fill the galleries of the Hague and of Amsterdam, 
but adorn every great collection of pictures in Europe. 

But nobler than literary fame, or than mere deeds of 
arms, is the heroic part borne by Holland in defence of 
liberty and of the Protestant Religion. As I ride over 
the country, I cannot recall without a thrill of admira- 
tion the scenes at once terrible and glorious, which have 
transpired on these peaceful plains, and around the walls 
of these cities. This small kingdom has been the battle- 
field of one of the most memorable struggles in history, 
when the Netherlands rose against the yoke of Spain. 
These plains, now so fresh and smiling in their summer's 
green, have often been red with blood. These cities, 
whose church spires gleam so peacefully among the trees, 
have been beleaguered by foreign armies. They have 
heard the cannon thundering at their gates, and have 
withstood long and dreadful sieges with heroic endur- 



120 SUMMER PICTUKES. 

ance — resisting, not only the enemy without, but famine 
and pestilence within — a courage sometimes rewarded, 
as at Haarlem, by a perfidious massacre, or, as at Leyden, 
by a deliverance obtained only by the voluntary destruc- 
tion of their country. For more than once, these low, 
sunken fields, where the cattle now graze so quietly, 
have been flooded by the inhabitants themselves, who 
thus devoted their country to ruin, that it might be freed 
from its invaders. 

But the prize obtained was worth all this sacrifice 
of treasure and of blood. In fighting for independ- 
ence of Spain, Holland was fighting the battle of all 
Protestant Europe. And when that contest was ended, 
she had again to stand in the breach against the armies 
of Louis XIV. The Pruice of Orange, was the centre 
and soul of the coalition against that overwhelming 
power of France, which threatened every free state 
in Europe. Thus it was that in the great struggles of 
past centuries, Holland, as well as England, was fight- 
ing the battle of our liberties. Indeed, Holland was in 
advance of England in the principles of liberty. It 
aflbrded an asylum to the persecuted Puritans, who 
sought here that freedom to worship God which was 
denied them at home, and from Holland the Pilgrim 
Fathers sailed to found a glorious commonwealth on the 
shores of the new world. 

While at Rotterdam we sought to find the j^lace from 
which the Pilgrims embarked. The spot is not very dis- 



EMBARKATION OF THE PILGRIMS. 121 

tinclly defined. Delft lies between Rotterdam and the 
Hague, but on the other side of Rotterdam is a small 
village, which still bears the name of Delft's Havre, and 
this, it seemed probable, was the Delft Haven from which 
they sailed. Here we found a small inlet, which leads 
out into the broad river that rolls on to the sea, and 
though no column marks the hallowed strand, we thought 
we had found the very spot from which, two hundred 
years ago, took place that embarkation, an event that 
seemed so little then, but which appears so mighty now. 
Our thoughts went back to that hour. We saw the 
Mayflower lying at the quay, her company all gathered 
on the deck, while their pastor, Robinson, knelt down 
and prayed that God might bear them safely on their 
way. Precious was the freight of that little bark. 
Slowly it moved from the shore, and as it dropped down 
the stream, and its sails began to flutter in the wind, it 
turned its prow to the setting sun, bearing over the sea 
the seeds of a mighty empire. 

We are glad to find that Holland, which went with 
Germany and England in the Reformation, still remains 
firmly attached to the Protestant faith, and that religion 
has strong hold of the national heart. As we came up 
the Maas, we passed the old city of Dort, where the 
famous Synod was held, which framed the Confession of 
Faith. And, curiously enough, I learned that a Dutch 
Synod was at that moment in session in the town. The 
Dutch give proof of their practical Christianity, both by 
6 



122 SUMMER PICTTJEES. 

their religious institutions and their manifold charities. 
This city has long been distinguished for the number of 
its benevolent institutions, so much so that when Louis 
XIY. was about to bring a great army against it, and some 
one predicted to Charles II. its inevitable fall, that mon- 
arch, who had sj^ent here part of his exile, replied in a 
more serious strain than was usual with him : " I am of 
opinion that Providence will preserve Amsterdam, if it 
were only for the great charity they have for their poor." 
This character it retains to the present day. The clergy 
of Holland, too, I believe, will compare well with those of 
the other Protestant States of Europe. At Rotterdam, 
we had hoped to see Dr. Osterzee, who is celebrated for 
his eloquence in the pulpit. We called at his house, and 
were most kindly received by his amiable and intelligent 
lady, but unfortunately he was himself absent from the 
city. 

Where Protestantism is the national religion, one is 
pretty sure to find popular liberty. This is eminently 
true of Holland. We see at once that ^ve are among a 
free people. We mark many tokens of the mdomitable 
Dutch spirit, which will not brook tyranny m any form. 
It was quite a relief in coming from France, where the 
strong arm of power is ever displayed in the streets and 
before the eyes of the people, and the police watch every 
step, and overhear every word, to emerge into a country 
where a man can think and speak his honest thoughts 
without restraint or fear. The government is one of the 



THE KING AND GOVERNMENT. 123 

freest in Europe. To be sure, the king as a man is not 
much to boast of. He is a mauvais sujet^ more fond of 
pretty French actresses, than of his own true-hearted 
wife. At the Hague we rode out to the queen's palace 
in " the wood," a stately beechen grove, two miles long 
— a retreat in which it would seem that royalty might 
find rest. As we rode under these arched forest aisles, I 
could not but think with pity and admiration of the noble 
woman who is here made unhappy by a profligate hus- 
band. But we won't speak of this man, for he is of small 
account. In a constitutional monarchy, a king is rather 
the figure-head of the ship of state, than a vital part of 
the machinery. True, a handsome figure-head is a very 
pretty ornament, but it is the mighty wind, or the steam, 
that makes the ship go. Some think the sturdy vessel 
would bufiet the seas quite as well without this rather 
expensive decoration — in fact, when kings are like the 
king of Holland, perhaps a little better. But it is the 
glory of a free government, that it is not dependent on 
the personal character of the ruler. In an absolute mon- 
archy such a sovereign might debauch a whole court, and 
tyrannize over a whole country. But the Dutch are not 
the people to play such tricks upon. They are free born, 
and call no man master. In visiting the Hall of the 
States General at the Hague, I reflected mth pride that 
this was the seat of the deliberations of an assembly 
which was a true representative of the national will. 
Thus Holland is as free a country as England. And it 



124 su:mmee pictures. 

has what England has not, not only liberty, but equality. 
The wide distinction of ranks, which in England forces 
itself upon the notice of a stranger, is here unknown. 
There is, indeed, a Dutch nobility, at least in name. But 
it has no exclusive privileges, and is not surrounded with 
that 

" Divinity which doth hedge a king,"' 

We were amused by a stout burgher of Amsterdam, 
whom we met m the cars, and w^ho gave us much infor- 
mation about his country. " Nobles !" said he, "snth an 
air of disdain, " What are they ? The only difference 
between them and us, is that our blood is red, while theirs 
is black .''" And, indeed, it is true in many countries 
besides Spain, that the race has so degenerated, that often 
those who are highest in rank are lowest in intellect and 
character. They may be very great lords, but they are 
very small men. 

But I am getting into a sober and almost sombre vein 
with all this talk of politics and besieged cities, and bat- 
tles upon land and sea. There is a more familiar and 
more pleasant side to these stout-hearted Dutchmen. 
They have their stern face which they show in resolute 
labor, and in the front of battle, but they have also a 
smile of humor and good nature. You are quite mis- 
taken if you think the Dutch a dull, phlegmatic race that 
never relax from a grim solemnity. They are as hearty 
in their pleasures as in their industry. They are h-ard 



MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE. 125 

workers and terrible fighters, but they know equally how 
to enjoy repose after labor. It is a cure for the blues to 
see a Dutchman's round and sober face relax into a smile. 
When he laughs, it is enough to wake the Seven Sleepers. 

Before we bid these hearty people good bye, it is but 
just to note these lighter features of manner and of char- 
acter. Having seen the Hollander upon his dikes and on 
the stormy main, let us see him under his own roof-tree 
and smoking his peaceful pipe. 

Nothing at once amuses and instructs me more than 
these homely views of common life. I like to see a j^eo- 
ple, not only as they appear on the grand theatre of his- 
tory, but as they move about in their daily walks. I find 
endless matter of observation in strolling through some 
great thoroughfare like the Ploogstraat, or High street 
of Rotterdam, or the Kalverstraat of Amsterdam, and 
noting the people in the streets, in their shops and 
houses ; to see how they look and how they live. 

The first thing which strikes you in a genuine Hol- 
lander is his somewhat remarkable person, which is as 
worthy of observation as that of John Bull himself. 
Here I find a great resemblance between the country 
and the people. The land is flat, and the Dutch are 
squat — that is, broad, large, and round, rather than per- 
pendicular. The original idea of a Dutchman is fatness. 
Dutch babies are born fat. Dutch belles are plump and 
solid. Indeed fatness seems to be the type of beauty, 
and the end of all good livmg is to develop this corpo- 



126 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

real tendency. A lean, lank Dutchman would he a mon- 
ster in nature. If such a creature were to show his head 
anywhere, he would deserve to be scouted as an impostor. 
Whenever a Dutch artist would place on canvas the im- 
posing figure of a magistrate, or other high personage, 
he is sure to give a substantial basis to his dignity. 
Rembrandt never paints a Dutch burgher but in broad 
and ample proportions. This national type goes with the 
Dutch the world over. The same portly figure is drawn 
with inimitable grace by our Washington Irving in his 
sketches of the early Dutch settlers on the banks of the 
Hudson. This outward resemblance remains through 
generations. The same rotund figures which you see in 
all the pictures of the old Dutch masters, you may 
recognize to-day on the Exchange at Amsterdam. 

Yet think not that these heavy Hollanders are there- 
fore gross in their persons or habits. Indeed, we are 
more inclined to pronounce them at once the cleanest 
and politest of men. Cleanliness is a national mania. In 
proof of this one has but to venture into the streets of 
Amsterdam, on a Saturday, which is a field day among 
the Dutch housewives. It is the day of universal scouring 
and scrubbing — the triumph of women, and the terror of 
the other sex — when valiant maids flourish with mop and 
broom, and men fly before them — nay, when even those 
who are stout of heart, grow faint and cowardly, and sneak 
along the middle of the streets for fear of a ducking. 

And then as to politeness, even the French must yield 



HOW THE DUTCH ENJOY THEMSELVES. 127 

to the Dutch in studied courtesy and formal deference to 
the fairer sex. A Dutchman never meets a lady of his 
acquaintance without taking off his hat. He does not 
merely touch it with his finger in the curt English way, 
but takes it clear off, even though it exposes a poor bald 
head to the winter's cold. So incessant is this motion 
that in walking through a crowded street, or in a public 
garden, the hat is off about half the tune. 

If you would see how the Dutch enjoy themselves, 
visit one of the public gardens which are found in the 
suburbs of every city, and see the crowds that gather in 
the evening for society and amusement. As we have 
been here in the full bloom of summer, we have seen 
these favorite resorts in all their glory. 

At Rotterdam, after a day spent in seeing the sights 
of the city, towards evening we fell into a crowd which 
was streaming out of the town, all wending their way 
to the same pomt of attraction. We found a large open 
ground, like an English park, which had been moulded 
with great care, gentle slopes sinking away into softly 
wooded dells, with shady nooks and winding walks and 
glistening basms of water. Here on a broad lawn, in- 
closed from the crowd, was a space set apart for the fash- 
ionable public. We came, expectmg to pay for admis- 
sion, as is the custom in most of the public gardens in 
France and Germany. But we were stopped at the gate, 
and informed that this part of the grounds was private, 
being reserved for the gentility of Rotterdam. It was 



128 SUMMER PICTURES. 

especially exclusive on this occasion, when a fete was 
given by the officers of the garrison to the more distin- 
guished families of the place. We bowed, and were 
about to retire, when the officer in command, seemg our 
perplexity, came to the rescue, explaining, in very good 
French, the nature of this fete champetre, but then mth 
great politeness welcoming us as strangers to their hospi- 
tality. We accordingly entered the enchanted ground 
as honored guests. We took our seats under the trees, 
and were pleased in observing the different parties as 
they entered the grounds ; to note their cordial greetings 
as they passed along, the hat bobbing up at every group 
in which they recognized friends. Soon hundreds of 
these groups were gathered under the trees — sometimes 
a family forming a party by itself, and sometimes a circle 
of friends joining together. There was no attempt at 
fashionable disj^lay. The dresses were simple, and the 
ladies brought their work and sat sewing or knitting in 
the most quiet domestic manner at little round tables, 
from which they sipped their ice cream, or the men drank 
their beer, or contented themselves with a cheerful 
cup of tea. We were amused in watching the different 
groups, scattered about under the trees. Here an honest 
matron was busily engaged in making the tea, her eyes 
of course intently fixed upon her task (Heaven bless her 
motherly heart), while a little innocent flirtation was go- 
ing on between a young cavalier and a pair of black eyes, 
at the other end of the table. But all, old and young 



HOW THE DUTCH ENJOY THEMSELVES. 129 

alike, seemed happy. Not a frown marred the gaiety 
and gladness of the hour. Thus they chatted and 
laughed merrily, while the simset gilded the heavens, 
and the fine military band poured forth stirring strains 
upon the evening au*. Seldom have I looked upon a 
scene of more simple, honest, heartfelt happiness. 

These Dutch girls are true daughters of Eve, as full 
of archness and coquetry as their sisters of sunnier climes. 
Indeed they have one cunning contrivance which I have 
not yet seen elsewhere, and which seems to he designed 
as an aid to all distressed lovers — an art of flirtation made 
easy. It is a little double faced mirror hung out of the 
window at such an angle as to reflect every figure passing 
in the street. Here the little witch may sit hidden, arid 
while appearing very industrious in sewing, or absorbed 
in a book, can keep watch of every handsome face that 
passes by her enchanted castle. And if — if^ you know — 
a gay gallant, walking on the pavement, in a fit of ab- 
straction, should stop a moment and kiss his hand, no- 
body can box the little minx's ears, because she looks up 
from her book just in time to see it. 

Womanly vanity and fashion exist all over the world. 
But they sometimes show themselves in strange ways. "We 
for example should not think a pretty face unproved by 
two gold spoons branching out from behind the ears, and 
covering the temples like blinders. Yet such is the fash- 
ion with Dutch country lasses, who wish to set off their 
charms. No doubt a rosy Dutch face, round as a dump- 

6* 



130 SUMMER PICTURES. 

ling, and thus embossed with gold, does look all the 
prettier in the fond lover's eyes. 

Take all these things together — the friendly manners, 
the solid comfort, the freedom and independence — and it 
must be confessed that Holland combines, in a high 
degree, all the elements of prosperity and happiness. 
Relatively, its power is not so great as it was two 
hundred years ago, for England has advanced with 
such gigantic strides as to have far outstripped her 
ancient rival. But the country is still rich in the 
natural elements of wealth, and the people are industri- 
ous and happy. And what charms a stranger is the air 
of universal contentment and the kind and friendly 
feeling which seems to pervade all classes. The very 
houses seem to be on good terms with each other, and as 
they lean their heads together across the street, they 
seem to be talking in a friendly manner with their neigh- 
bors over the way. Even the storks seem to be on the 
best terms with the people, as they walk about on the 
roofs of the houses, with none to molest them, and occa- 
sionally j)ut their long necks down the chimneys, as if 
to whisper confidentially to the family below. Thus the 
Dutch have learned the good rule to " live and let live." 
They know how to enjoy life without envying or trou- 
bling their neighbors. For all these things I like the 
Dutch. I like their queer, quaint old towns. I like their 
simple manners, and their honest, friendly ways. They 
are not as proud as the English, nor as ambitious of glory 



THEIR CHAEACTEK. 131 

as the French, but they are a people less corrupted than 
either — sknple,. virtuous, and brave, that dwell contented 
in their own land, that love their homes, their wives and 
children, their country, and their God. And perhaps 
this small kingdom contains as little poverty and ignor- 
ance, and comprises as much material comfort, as much 
intelligence, as much virtue, and as much real happiness, 
as can be found m any equal space on the surface of the 
globe. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Leaving Holland — Hanover and the Georges — Hamburg — Beauty 
* OF THE City — its Commerce. 

Hamburg, July 20th, 1858. 

It was a long stretch from Amsterdam to Hamburg, but 
as we were bound for the north of Europe, we must 
needs jDass this way. The most direct route is by sea, 
and steamers make the voyage every week. But there 
is also a way of getting here by railroad, which indeed 
compels a detour through Germany, but in this case, as 
in many others, " the longest way round is the shortest 
way home." So we decided to keep to the land. Mine 
host of the inn at Amsterdam, who was a round and 
rosy cheeked man, the very image of good cheer and of 
Dutch hospitality, shook us warmly by the hand, and 
wished us all manner of blessings on our journey ; and 
the carriage soon took us beyond the city gates, and the 
cars whirled us away from the land of dikes and canals. 
When Voltaire bade good bye to Holland, he left as 
usual a stinging sarcasm behind him : " Adieu, canaux, 
canards, canaille!" The old sinner! I hate him, thus 
to speak of his betters. But we were quite sad to part 

182 



LEAVING HOLLAND. 133 

from Holland so soon, for though we had been in it but a 
few days, yet "we had come to feel at home among these 
good natured and honest Dutchmen. Byron says that 

" Even in leaving the most unpleasant places and people, 
One cannot help turning back and looking at the steeple." 

Might we not then linger in a country where we had ex- 
perienced only kindness, and look up to every windmill 
as a friend, and imagine as we flew j)ast them on the 
road, that their long arms were waving us a benevolent 
adieu ? Thus, pleased with what we had seen and expe- 
rienced, and bearing away happy memories of the coun- 
try and its people, we went skimming over the plains of 
Holland, past Utrecht, where, in 1*713, after the war of 
the Spanish Succession, the great powers of Europe at 
last solemnly agreed to be at peace ; and past Arnheim, 
till we entered the valley of the Rhine, and at length 
crossed the frontier of Prussia. At Oberhausen we 
struck upon the great central line of railway which runs 
through the heart of Germany from Cologne to Berlin, 
and which brought us at midnight to the old town of 
Hanover. It was Saturday night, and we welcomed the 
quiet of this inland town as promising us a calm and 
tranquil day of rest. But even here we could not find 
an American Sabbath. Our hotel was on a public square 
near the railway station, and the next day we were com- 
pelled to hear the noise of trains which went thundering 



134 SUAIMEK PICTURES. 

l^ast at almost every hour. Germany has yet to learn 
the sacred beauty, and the priceless blessing of a day of 
perfect rest and solemn worship. 

Hanover is a place of some historical interest from its 
connection with England, which it so long furnished 
with sovereigns. From this little German capital came 
the hopeful race of the Georges. The house of Hanover 
is still represented -in the person of Victoria. We vis- 
ited the old palace of Herrenhausen, which Mr. Thack- 
eray has made so familiar in his Lectures on the Four 
Georges, in which he describes very minutely the private 
life of those who lived here, before they migrated to 
London — a life not at all brilliant, and sometimes not 
over respectable. The palace is a long, low building, 
with no pretensions to magnificence or even to taste in 
its architecture, surrounded by gardens laid out in the 
stiif French style. Yet George I., when seated on the 
throne of England, often pined for its shaded walks and 
its more quiet and simple life, and perhaps he would 
have been happier if left in the position for which na- 
ture designed him — that of a petty German prince — 
instead of being raised out of his place, to fill a greater 
throne. 

The present king of Hanover is also a George, being 
the fifth of the name. He is the cousin of the Queen of 
England, and is entitled to sit in the House of Lords as 
the Duke of Cumberland and Teviotdale, although Han- 
over has noAV no political connection with Great Britain, 



HANOVEE. 135 

but is an independent kingdom, ranking among the sec- 
ond class of German States, along with Saxony and Ba- 
varia. Though it is not a very mighty dominion, the 
king tries to make the most of it. He keeps up all the 
emblems of sovereignty. He has half a dozen palaces, 
and as if that were not enough, the queen is having 
another built for her especial gratification. But little 
joy can all this afibrd to the kmg, who though still a 
young man, is blind ! having lost his sight by an acci- 
dent, some years ago. Thus does that Providence, 
which holds with an equal hand the scales of human 
life, often turn to barrenness all the splendor of human 
glory by one single privation. 

When we were at Herrenhausen, we were told that 
the king had left a day or two before for a pleasure ex- 
cursion. We find it pretty often the case when we visit 
the residences of royal personages, that the masters are 
not at home, and we begin to think that they are not so 
contented and happy in their own houses as more hum- 
ble individuals. Perhaps they may find their royal life 
after all pretty dull, since they seem glad of any excuse 
to escape from the routine of a court, and to lead a less 
constrained, a more free, natural, and happy existence. 
These German princes, especially, must have a pretty 
dull time of it. They have great titles, and the taste 
for a royal style of living, and yet they are shut up in a 
little capital, with a petty court and a very small reve- 
nue. No wonder they try to escape the ennui of their 



136 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

existence by spending a part of the year in some greater 
capital. In London there is always a swarm of them, 
who are sixth or tenth consins to Prince Albert, hang- 
ing round the court, so that the queen must be very 
good natured not to get sometimes a little tired of her 
German relations. 

How pleasant was it to turn from the race of royal 
nonentities to one who was a monarch in the realms of 
thought, and who needs no title but his own great name. 
Hanover was the home of Leibnitz. Here lived the 
great philosopher, the Isaac N"ewton of Germany, and 
his plain dwelling, which is still pointed out in one of 
the streets of the to^m, is far more interesting than all 
the palaces of the Georges. 

At Hanover we diverged from the great high road to 
Berlin, and took the railway to Hamburg, thus travers- 
ing almost the whole kingdom of Hanover. The coun- 
try is everywhere the same, a vast j^lain, flat as Flanders 
itself, though less highly cultivated. But thanks to rail- 
roads, a dull region is quickly passed, and five hours 
brought us to the banks of the Elbe, which here flows 
out in a broad, full stream to the North Sea, and a 
steamboat soon took us across and landed us on the 
quays of Hamburg. 

Why has no traveller celebrated the beauty of this 
city ? I have read books of travel almost by the bushel, 
but do not remember ever to have seen Hamburg named 
except as one of the free towns of Germany, and as a 



HAMBURG. 13 Y 

very important commercial city. Yet we find it one of 
the most beautiful cities we have seen in Europe. The 
first impression of a stranger is directly the opposite of 
this. We landed in the lower town, which is built along 
'the river, and directly found ourselves in a maze of nar- 
row streets, overhung by old, dilapidated houses, that 
looked as if they had been standing since the flood, and 
as if now their last hour had come. Surely, we thought, 
this is a city of desolation. Ruined, rotten, rickety, 
worm-eaten, plague-smitten — such were the complunen- 
tary epithets which we were prepared to bestow upon 
the miserable place, when, after riding half an hour, 
we began to ascend to the upper town, and presently 
emerged, upon what seemed to us glorious as a mount 
of vision, shining bright and resplendent over the dark- 
ness of the lower regions. Here we found all that can 
make a city beautiful — broad streets and squares lined 
with splendid buildings, and, in the centre of all, as the 
gem in the crown, the clear and sparkling eye of the 
picture — a crystal lake of water. 

Hamburg, indeed, owes its great prosperity to com- 
merce, and is to be considered, first of all, as a commer- 
cial city. It is a free town, having an independent 
politigal existence, and managing its own afiairs. It has 
no king, and gets along quite as well without one as its 
neighbor Hanover with its royal race — to judge from 
the appearance of the two cities, I should say, much bet- 
ter. Hamburg is a free city in another sense. It en- 



138 SUMMER PICTURES. 

joys almost entire free trade. The duties levied upon 
imj^orts are very light, compared with those of most 
States. Thus, few restrictions are placed upon com- 
merce, and it is left free to expand according to the nat- 
ural laws of trade. The city is admirably situated for 
commerce with all parts of the world. Standing near 
the mouth of the Elbe, it is easily accessible from the 
sea, while its position makes it the natural jDlace of im- 
port and export for the north of Germany. Its prosper- 
ity will be greatly advanced by the railroads which 
radiate from it into the interior, and steamships Avhich 
connect it with foreign countries. A line has recently 
been established between Hamburg and New York, 
which I hear spoken of in high terms. We saw one of 
the ships, the Saxonia, lying at her wharf, as we crossed 
the Elbe, and a magnificent vessel she is, built of iron. 
I hope the Ime will be well sustained, and will thus be- 
come a permanent one. It ought to be, at least, as suc- 
cessful as that to Bremen, since Hamburg is a much 
more important city. Such a line would be a benefit to 
us, as it would furnish another direct communication 
with the north of Europe. It will also be a very desira- 
ble route for travellers, who may wish to come direct to 
the continent without stopping in England. I commend 
it to students who are coming to the German universi- 
ties, and to clergymen who wish to study economy in a 
European tour. After seeing Hamburg, I feel doubly 
desirous that Xew York should have a direct and fre- 



BEAUTY OF THE CITY. 139 

quent communication with a city so large, prosperous, 
and beautiful. 

The peculiar beauty of Hamburg it owes to the small 
river Alster, which flows through the towm to empty 
itself into the Elbe. By placing a dam across this 
stream, the waters have been inclosed in a large basin, 
which is walled in by quays of stone, and is overlooked 
by a long range of stately edifices, so that the Alster- 
damm designates the most beautiful part of Hamburg. 
Beyond the basin thus inclosed, the waters flow back 
into a broad sheet or lake extending several miles, and 
on its borders are the country seats of the merchant 
princes of Hamburg. We have just returned from a 
ride along the shore. It was the hour when men of 
business were returned from the city, and at every house 
we passed, the family were sitting on the green lawn 
before their door taking their tea in the open air, enjoy- 
ing the long twilight and the delicious coolness which 
came from the water, and which tempered the heat of 
the warm summer's day. After ascending the lake for 
several miles, we crossed it in a boat, to come back to 
the city on the other bank. The sun was setting, and 
the golden clouds were reflected in the polished mirror 
beneath. As we approached the shore, we heard the 
sound of music from a garden where happy groups were 
sitting under the trees. We have come back to the 
Crown Prince hotel, which is situated on the Alster- 
damm, and from our windows we look down on a 



140 SUMMER PICTURES. 

scene of enchantment. Below ns the water reflects a 
thousand stars, and boats filled with gay parties are 
shooting across it in every direction. I hear the dip of 
their oars mingling with shouts of laughter and music. 
At such an hour as this all the world seems happy. 
Care and grief are banished far away. Sad is it that 
upon such fair visions the morn must break ; the cold, 
grey light of reality must rest on scenes of sorrow and 
of death ; and human passions will wake again to mar 
the face of the earth which the Creator has made so 
divine. 



CHAPTER X. 

Dfnmark — Excursion in Holstein and Schleswig — Life in a 
Danish Parsonage. 

Copenhagen, May 27, 1858. 
It was a bright summer's morning on wliicli we left the 
fair city of Hambm-g, and drove across the line to the old 
Danish town of Altona. This is the gateway to the 
duchies of Plolstein and Schleswig, which have figured so 
much in European politics for the last few years. As we 
entered these provinces, so lately the scene of bitter 
strife, our first impression was that they were hardly 
worth fighting for. The railroad runs along a high and 
sterile rids^e which extends throusrh the whole Peninsula. 
As seen from the route the country is a vast plain, and 
that not rich and cultivated, like Holland, but a bleak 
and barren moor, such as in Scotland would be thought 
fit only for the grazing of sheep. At present its chief 
value seems to be, like the bogs in Ireland, to furnish the 
inhabitants with fuel. All along the road, the turf is 
cut up, like clay for the limekiln, generally in square 
pieces, like brick, and piled up in rows, to dry in the 
sun ; and this is the protection of the people against the 

141 



142 SUMMER PICTtTRES. 

rigors of their northern winters. But hoAV desolate was 
the scene presented to the eye ! Coming out of a busy 
city, it seemed as if we had entered at once into the 
solitude and silence of the desert. One could not feel 
more lonely even in the Campagna around Rome, where 
the only living object that meets the eye is the shepherd 
and his flock, and the only sound the barking of the 
watch-dog. 

Yet, like the Campagna, these desolate moors have 
once been populous with men. Over these silent plains 
have passed savage hordes, which shook the earth with 
their tread. In the north of the Peninsula lies the Pro- 
vince of Jutland, which was the home of the terrible 
Cimbri, who, with other Baltic tribes, once ravaged 
France and Spain, and carried terror to the gates of 
Rome. In the Museum of Northern Antiquities at 
Copenhagen, may be seen the implements of war of this 
savage race. Here, too, were celebrated the rites of 
Odin, centuries before Christ was born in Bethlehem of 
Judea. And here, at a later day, came another con- 
queror from the south. Yonder town on the right was 
founded by Charlemagne. 

Nor is this country now so uninhabited as it seems. 
Off from the line of the railroad, if you turn to either 
side, the country is of surpassing fertility and richness. 
Nearer to the coast, are many towns of ancient date, and 
some of a present commercial importance. Kiel is one 
of the principal ports in the Baltic. It was the rendez- 



DENMARK. 143 

vous of the English fleet in the late war, before it pro- 
ceeded to Cronstadt. 

The population throughout Holstein and the southern 
part of Schleswig is largely German, and it was the con- 
flict of the German and Danish elements, which, after 
the revolutions of 1848, broke out into such fierce hostil- 
ity, that this peaceful country was plunged into all the 
horrors of civil war. The German party was supported 
by the sympathy and secret aid of Prussia, and this pro- 
longed the contest for three years ; nor was it terminated 
until several pitched battles had been fought, in the last 
of which Avere brought into the field, counting both 
armies, fifty thousand men, and nearly five thousand were 
killed and wounded ! This ended the war, and reestab- 
lished the authority of Denmark over its rebellious pro- 
vinces. The fortified town of Rendsburg, through 
which we passed, was the chief point of the Holsteiners. 
It changed hands several times, and was not finally 
secured to Denmark until the last decisive battle. As 
we traversed the country, we heard many tales of the 
war. Though the fighting is ended, the difficulty seems 
not yet settled. Prussia still supports the cause of Hol- 
stein, and the question remains a subject of controversy 
between Denmark and Germany. It is evident that the 
fires of discontent, though subdued, are still smouldering, 
and in the event of another general revolution in Europe, 
would at once break out anew. 

From Altona a railroad runs direct to Kiel, and a 



144 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

steamer crosses in a few hours to Korsoer, from which 
another train takes you on to Coj^enhagen. But we had a 
friend to visit in the interior of Schleswig, so that, in- 
stead of turning off to the coast, we kept on directly up 
the Peninsula. At length the country began to change, 
the plains rising at first into gentle slopes, and then into 
wooded hills. "We came to the end of the railroad, and 
then jDursued our way by diligence over hills and val- 
leys, skirtmg along the shores of rocky fiords, till we 
brought up in the little town of Haderslev. This is a 
place of some importance in the province, but so shut 
out from the world, lying in a little valley, surrounded 
by hills, and having a look so quaint and quiet that we 
could not have felt more like strangers if we had been 
landed in Iceland. Yet this remote and secluded spot 
was the birthplace of the Danish monarchy. Here four 
hundred years ago (in 1448), Count Christian of Olden- 
burg, the first of the now reigning dynasty, was elected 
king. For more than two hundred years (till 1660), the 
crown continued to- be elective. Yet his descendants 
were always chosen as his successors, and the same 
family has continued to this day in uninterrupted pos- 
session of the throne. 

Here we slept in a httle country inn. The people, 
like good honest folk, went to bed at an early hour, and 
aU was still in the street, save the tramj^ of a solitary 
watchman, whose clogs were heard at regular intervals 
under our windows, and who in a deep and measured 



A DANISH PARSONAGE. 145 

tone, repeated, " Eleven o'clock has struck," or " Twelve 
o'clock has struck." How strangely sounded that voice, 
callhig the midnight hour! We had not heard that 
watchman's cry since three years before in Halifax, 
Nova Scotia ; and now it seemed as if the voice that 
had died away on' the shore of another continent, 
had found an echo in the heart of ancient Scan- 
dinavia. 

We had come mto this retired region to pay a visit to 
a Danish pastor, with whom we became acquainted 
through his brother, whom we had known in New York. 
Four miles from Haderslev, nestled among the hills, is 
descried the white tower of the church of Kronsbeck, 
and close by it is the parsonage of the pastor Moller. 
We took one of the carriages of the country, a kind of 
huge basket of wicker work, and drove to his manse. It 
is inclosed by a range of low buildings, which looked 
like the surroundings of a farmyard. We drove under 
an arched way into the large court, and thought at first 
that we had mistaken the place, and had invaded the 
premises of one of the rich farmers of the country. But 
a cottage at the further end of the buildings seemed to 
mark the residence of a man of taste and cultivation, 
and as we approached inquiringly, the pastor himself and 
his wife, who were walking in their garden, advanced to 
meet us, and gave us the most cordial welcome. 

We entered the parsonage, and here it was evident by 
many signs, that we were in the home of a scholar. The 

1 



146 SUMMER PICTURES. 

books on the table and the pictures on the walls, showed 
the fondness for reading and study, and the presence of 
taste; while a large telescope, standing in the middle 
of the room, indicated the man of science. In the 
number of his wife's books we found carefully treasured 
several works of American writers, among them the 
"Wide, Wide World," of our excellent friend Miss 
Warner. The pastor, knowing by instinct the point of 
attraction for a brother minister, took me first to his 
library. After a long and wistful look at its treasures 
we returned to the ladies, and all strolled away into the 
garden, where a summer-house on the brow of a hill 
overlooks the country for miles around. The view ex- 
tends along the coast, and across the waters of the Little 
Belt to the island of Fione. The coast region here re- 
sembles that of Norway (though on a scale less grand), 
being indented with numerous inlets, or fiords, so that 
almost every deep valley stoops down to the water's 
edge. One of these inlets flowed at the bottom of the 
hill on which we stood, and stretchmg along the bank 
for half a mile is a noble wood, which is a part of the 
property of the manse. One does not find in Denmark 
the dark forests of pine which stand on Norwegian hills. 
The beech is the tree of the country. This grove was 
composed chiefly of beeches, with here and there an 
ancient oak, or a white birch showing its shining bark. 
Nothing could exceed the charm of this wood, which 
seemed to unite all the elements of beauty — tall and 



A DANISH PAESOXAGE. 147 

stately trees, with here and there an open glade to let a 
stream of light into the darker depths of the forest, and 
long shady avenues, which seemed made for the retired 
walks of the scholar. Long did we linger here, walking 
under the trees, or sitting on the mossy bank of the 
stream, and talk of the Old World and the New, of 
Denmark and of America. 

On the edge of the wood, near the Parsonage, stands 
the church. The pastor took us to see it. It is a small 
edifice, of stone, but with walls as thick as if built for a 
fortress. There it has stood for six hundred years! 
Generation after generation has come over these hills 
here to worship God, and their bodies now rest under its 
shadow. The churchyard is thickly strewn with graves, 
which are not marked by slabs of stone, but covered icith 
beds offloicers^ emblems of hope and of the resurrection. 

The pastor gave us much information in regard to the 
religious condition of Denmark, its churches and its 
schools. The religion of the State is Lutheran, and the 
people are generally attached to the Protestant worshij^. 
Education also is provided for by the State. The whole 
country is dotted with village schools. Every parish 
has one or more of them, to which the parents are required 
by law to send their children. And it is rare to find a 
peasant who does not know how to read and write. The 
State also takes care to provide a competent body of 
teachers. There are five seminaries expressly for the 
education of country school-masters. Thus is formed a 



148 SUMMER PICTURES. 

large and highly respectable body of men. The State 
also adds to their dignity and independence by setting 
apart for them glebe lands and granting them certain 
privileges. Besides these common schools, all the larger 
towns have burgher schools, and Latin schools, besides 
their charity schools. At the same time the universities 
of Copenhagen and Kiel j^rovide for the higher educa- 
tion. 

Thus the stream of talk flowed on till the day was 
spent, and the sun setting over the hills and the fad- 
ing twilight, warned us to return to Haderslev to pre- 
pare to resume our journey the next morning. But the 
kind pastor would hardly let us go. "We ought to 
stay at least a week !" And when at last we were 
forced to part, it was more like friends who had known 
each other from childhood, than as those who never saw 
each other's faces till that morning. The ladies em- 
braced like sisters, and after we were seated in the car- 
riage, the little ones were brought out to be handed up 
to receive their kiss, and we rode away with delightful 
remembrances of a day in a Danish parsonage. 

This glimpse of the interior of a manse in Denmark, 
has given me the most favorable impression of the pas- 
tors and churches of this country. Here is a man 
of education and refinement, who lives afar from the 
great world, yet who is perfectly contented and haj)py, 
free from envy and pride, and with no ambition but to 
do good to the simple people who live among these hills, 



A DANISH PARSONAGE. 149 

and who look uj) to him as a father. Such is the moral 
beauty and dignity of a true Christian pastor. Long 
shall we remember this day's visit, and the names of Pas- 
tor MoUer and his wife will be warmly cherished by their 
friends in America. 



CHAPTER XI. 

The Island op Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty of the City and its 
Environs — Decline op Denmark as an European Power — At- 
tack OP Nelson in 1801 — Bombardment in 1807 — Loss of Nor- 
way — The Country still rich in the Elements of Prosperity — 
Points op Sympathy with America — Settlement of the Sound 
Dues Question — The King — Hopes of Scandinavian Unity — 
Thorwaldsen. 

Copenhagen, July 28, 1858. 

The next morning after our visit to the Danish pastor, 
we left the quiet tOTvn of Haderslev, sleeping in its val- 
ley, and rode over the hills to the shore of the Little Belt, 
where a steamer was waiting to convey passengers across 
to the island of Fione. This island is forty miles broad, 
and is one of the richest jDarts of the kingdom. As we 
rode over it on a warm summer's day, the whole land 
seemed smiling with plenty. On every side were seen 
rich farms and peaceful villages. " The valleys are cov- 
ered over with corn, they shout for joy, they also sing." 
We saw no i^rincely estates, nothing hke the palaces and 
parks of England, but there was an appearance of gen- 
eral comfort, of an abundance of the necessaries of life. 
We saw no great wealth on the one hand, and no squalid 
poverty on the other. Everywhere was industry, com- 

150 



THE ISLAND OF FIONE. 151 

fort, and content. It seemed a stout, bale, and happy 
country, tenanted by a manly and self-respecting race. 
We passed through several toT\Tis, the largest of which 
was Odensee, whose ancient date is signified in the very 
name it bears — which is derived from Odin, the old 
Scandinavian deity. Indeed, this mythological personage 
is said to have lived in this place, and his tumulus is still 
shown outsido the town. No doubt he did live here as 
much as anywhere. A fact somewhat more authentic, 
and quite as interesting to us, was that here was born 
Hians Christian Andersen, the celebrated Danish writer, 
and from these streets he sallied forth, a poor boy, and 
made his way to Copenhagen, where, after years of labor 
and discouragement, he at length rose to fame. 

The island of Fione is belted on both sides — having 
the Little Belt on one side and the Great Belt on the 
other. These waters are famous as the only entrance to 
the Baltic, except by the Sound, past the guns of Cro- 
nenburg, near Elsinore. The English fleet designed to 
attack Cronstadt in the last war, came down the Great 
Belt. These Belts have generally been a protection to 
Denmark, like the Channel to England. But not always. 
Just two hundred years ago, in 1657-8, the winter was 
so severe that the Little Belt and the Great Belt were 
frozen over, and Charles X., of Sweden, crossed them 
both upon the ice, wuth his whole army, infantry, cav- 
alry, and artillery, on his way to attack Copenhagen. 
The steamer which took us over, crossed in two hours, 



152 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

from Nyborg to Korsoer, from wliicli there is a railway 
across Zealand to Coj)eiihageii. We reached the capital 
the same evening. 

We had looked forward with much interest to our 
visit to Copenhagen. Nor is that interest diminished, 
now that we walk its streets. We find indeed a city not 
very imposing in its external appearance. It has suf- 
fered too much by siege and bombardment to retain 
many marks of grandeur. The houses, being built only 
of brick, stuccoed, have a plam and comfortable look, 
but are by no means magnificent. Yet Copenhagen is, 
next to St. Petersburg, the greatest of the northern 
capitals. It has a hundred and fifty thousand inhabit- 
ants, and is surrounded by fortifications five miles in ex- 
tent. It has a few stately public edifices. From our 
room in the Hotel Royal we look across to the king's 
palace, which is one of the most extensive royal resi- 
dences in Europe. Here is a large gallery of paintings. 
By the side of the palace are the principal public build- 
ings of the capital — those occupied by the Dej^artments 
of Government, the Exchange, and what is of more inte- 
rest than all, the Museum of Thorwaldsen. 

But the chief beauty of Copenhagen, it owes to its 
situation and its charming environs. Standing on the 
shores of the Baltic, its tall spires may be seen from a 
ship's deck twenty miles distant. Hardly any city that 
we have visited commands more beautiful views. The 
palace of Fredericksberg, on a hill two miles from the 



ENVIKONS OF COPENHAGEN. 153 

town, overlooks a wide and bSautiful prospect of land and 
Waaler. I know not where to point out a more enchant- 
ing drive than along the Sound from Copenhagen to El- 
sinore. For the whole distance the shores of Sweden 
are in sight. Midway between the two kingdoms is a 
little island on which Tycho Brahe erected his observa- 
tory, and from which he watched the constellations in 
the cold northern heavens. One afternoon we devoted 
to an excursion along the Danish shore. A great num- 
ber of ships were passing up and down the Sound. We 
whiled away an hour at a watering-place which is a sum- 
mer resort of the fashionable public, and next drove under 
the windows of a country box of the king, just as a mili- 
tary band were playing to soothe the royal ear, and 
returned through the Deer Park, a magnificent forest of 
beech, which is a hunting-ground for the Court, and where 
every year, in June or July, the peoj^le of city and coun- 
try pitch their tents for a grand national fair. 

Just at present, Copenhagen itself is dull. As it is 
midsummer, the Court is absent, and the hotels of the 
foreign ministers, and the to^Ti-houses of the Danish 
nobility are closed, and all are spending the hot months 
at their seats in the country, so that we see nothing of 
the fashion of Denmark. The only gaiety manifest is 
that of the people at the suburban gardens of Tivoli and 
the Alhambra. But in winter, when the court is in town 
and the National Diet in session, and the nobility flock 
to the capital, the streets present a more animated spec- 

1* 



154 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

tacle, and the saloons are more brilliant. The Danes arc 
generally intelligent, and the educated classes remarka- 
bly well informed. The nniversit}^, with its twelve hun- 
dred students, of course draws around it a number of 
learned professors and literary men, and these, with the 
wealthier citizens, and the noble families, and officers of 
the government, and artists and authors, form altogether 
a very charming society. 

During the week we have spent in Copenhagen we 
have been accustomed to take our evening walk along 
the bastions, which girdle the city on the side of land 
and sea. Here we have strolled at sunset, musing like 
Hamlet the Dane upon the walls of Elsinore. As we 
looked oif upon the Baltic, of which this city was queen, 
as Venice was queen of the Adriatic, and surveyed the 
heavy ramparts, and marked the long lines of cannon, 
now grim and silent, and watched the sentinel pacing 
his round, we could not but fall into reflections on the 
former greatness and present decline of this once mighty 
northern power. 

Denmark is no longer the giant that she once was, 
when northern vikings were the terror of the sea, and 
Danes were the conquerors of England. For centuries 
she continued one of the great kingdoms of the North. 
But within the last hundred years she has been cast into 
the shade by monarchies of a later date, but of far 
greater power. Since the time of Frederick the Great, 
Prussia has risen to the first rank of European States ; 



DECLINE OF DENMARK. 155 

and since the reign of Peter the Great, Russia has 
loomed up in vast proportions, and these two empires 
have overshadowed all other powers in the north of 
Europe. Still Denmark would have remained a very 
respectable kingdom, but for two disasters, which 
resulted from the wars of Napoleon — the loss of her 
navy, and the loss of Norway. 

It is sad to think that the heaviest blows at the pros- 
perity of this Protestant nation should have been struck 
by Protestant England. Twice in this century have 
hostile armaments appeared in these waters. In 1801, 
the object was to break the famous league of the powers 
of the Baltic, known as "the Armed Neutrality," in 
which Russia, Prussia, Denmark, and Sweden combined 
to protect their commerce against the pretensions and 
vexations of British ships, and to maintain their own 
rights as neutrals in the great war then raging in Europe. 
This was regarded by England as an attack upon her 
maritime supremacy, and to sustain her prestige and 
power on the seas, she felt it necessary to strike a 
sudden bloAV at this northern confederacy, and Nelson, 
w^hose fame had begun to fill the world since he won 
the battle of the Nile, led an expedition against 
Copenhagen. The shores of Sweden and Denmark 
never saw such a sight as on the day when that 
mighty armament came down the waters of the Sound. 
The action which followed w^as one of the most fearful 
engagements on record, and the hardly-earned victory is 



156 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

counted among the greatest naval acHevements of Great 
Britain. Yon rememloer the stirring ode of Campbell 
on the battle of the Baltic : 

"Of Nelson and the North, 

Sing the glorious day's renown, 
When to battle fierce came forth, 
All the might of Denmark's crown." 

Well may they boast of their victory, for never were 
they matched against a braver enemy, or met with valor 
more equal to their own. For four hours the battle 
raged. So terrible was the Danish fire that Sir Hyde 
Parker, the chief in command, signalled to the English 
fleet to withdraw, and nothing but the obstinacy of Nel- 
son, who refused to be beaten, and fought on against 
orders, finally carried the day. K'elson himself felt the 
highest admiration for the valor of his enemy. He de- 
clared that he had never seen anything like it before. 
He afterwards told the Crown Prince that he had been 
in over a himdred engagements, but in none to be com- 
pared to this. EA^en the battle of the Nile Avas less 
awful. He said, " The French fought bravely, but they 
could not have stood for one hour the fight which the 
Danes had supported for four." 

I find that the Danes themselves do not regard this by 
any means as an unworthy defeat, but as a battle in which 
the glory was equally divided. Certainly, if Denmark 
lost her ships and men, she lost no honor on that day. 



ATTACK OF NELSON. 157 

It was with no feeling of English pride that here on 
the spot, we recalled that dreadful scene, but with equal 
admiration for the brave men of both nations, and with 
sorrow for the unnatural strife which arrayed them 
against each other. From the island of Amak, we 
looked along the line of the Danish batteries, and out 
upon the roadstead where lay the English fleet, and then 
turned away sadly to the Naval Gemetery, where a plain 
obelisk, hewn out of a single block of Norwegian mar- 
ble, marks the place of the dead. It bears this simple 
inscription : 

" They fell for their country, April 2, 1801." 

Beneath which is written : 

*' The gratitude of their fellow-citizens erected this monument." 

It is surrounded by oaks and pines, which wave mourn- 
fully in the northern wind. 

Campbell bade us remember the fallen heroes : 

"Let us think of them that sleep 
Full many a fathom deep." 

And we did think with honor of the brave men whose 
forms decay, side by side, beneath the waters of the 
Baltic — brothers in death, who should have been bro- 
thers in life. 

But the victory of Nelson was not the greatest blow 
dealt by England to the power of Denmark. Six years 
later it was repeated, with still more tremendous effect. 



158 SUMMER PKJTURES. 

Again the British cabinet was haunted with the fear of a 
northern confederacy. Napoleon had become more for- 
midable than ever. Master of southern and central Eu- 
rope, he was now ruler of the north by the victorious 
termination of the war with Russia. A treaty had been 
concluded at Tilsit, upon Avhich there sprang u]) a sud- 
den intimacy, and almost romantic attachment between 
Napoleon and Alexander. This foreboded new dangers 
for England. If she had not been secure when she had 
Kussia for an ally, what was her position now that Rus- 
sia had gone over to the side of her enemy ? The gen- 
eral terms of the treaty of Tilsit soon became known 
throughout Europe, but it was supposed that there w- ere 
other secret articles, by which the two emperors bound 
themselves to support each other, both in the east and 
the west — Alexander in his designs uj3on Finland and 
Turkey, and Napoleon in his war in Spain, and against 
England. Thus they would virtually divide the empire 
of the continent. With all Europe at their feet, it was 
designed to unite the naval forces of the continent in a 
combined attack upon England. France could furnish 
sixty ships of the line, Spain forty, Portugal ten, Russia 
twenty-five, and Sweden, Holland and Denmark each 
fifteen, thus making, m all, one hundred and eighty line- 
ol-battle ships — a force against which the whole English 
navy could not stand. Had this gigantic scheme been 
carried out, the appearance of such an Armada ofi* the 
English coast would have threatened Britain with a 



SECOND ENGLISH EXPEDITION. 159 

danger greater than any since that of Spain was seen 
bearing down the Channel. 

Such was the famous northern confederacy which rose 
as a thunder-cloud from the waters of the Baltic, and 
threatened to burst on the English shores. Not a mo- 
ment was to be lost in breaking this formidable alliance. 
Again another armament, greater than before — includ- 
ing twenty-seven shijDS of the line, with twenty thousand 
land troops on board — set sail for the Baltic. As yet 
war had not been declared, and the expedition came 
with a demand which was designed to avoid conflict. It 
was that the whole Danish fleet should be surrendered 
to England ! not as the prize of war, but as a pledge of 
peace — a security that it should not be employed against 
her — in which case England engaged, that at the conclu- 
sion of a general peace, it should be returned safely and 
with all its appointments comj^lete. A proposal so hu- 
miliating to the pride of Denmark, called forth an uni- 
versal burst of indignation, and all classes, from the 
Crown Prince to the humblest subject, prepared for 
resistance. They had no allies to look to for support. 
A French army had advanced into Holstein, but the 
British cruisers in the Great Belt eflfectually 23re vented 
any troops crossing to Zealand, and the Danes were left 
to fight their battles alone. But the spirit of the nation 
rose with the danger. They acted as a brave and high- 
spirited people, scorning to yield when the enemy was 
at their gates. 



IGO SUMMER PICTURES. 

Immediately the British, army landed and began to 
invest the city. The chief command was in Lord Cath- 
cart, but he had an efficient aid in that military genius 
which was soon to become the idol of the British army. 
As in the former attack upon Copenhagen, Nelson, the 
pride of the English navy, added to his fame, so in this, 
Wellington, who had already fought in India, was first 
to gain an European reputation. The batteries were 
mounted with the most formidable cannon, and then fol- 
lowed all the horrors of a bombardment. For three 
days and nights a storm of fire poured uj^on the devoted 
city. The historian Ahson thus portrays the fearful 
scene : 

" The inhabitants sustained with heroic resolution the 
flaming tempest, and all classes were indefatigable in 
their endeavors to carry water to the quarters where the 
city had taken fire ; but in sj^ite of all their efibrts, the 
conflagration spread with frightful rapidity, and at 
length, a great magazine of wood, and the lofty steeple 
of the Church of Our Lady took fire, and the flames, 
curling to a prodigious height up its wooden joinnacles, 
illuminated the whole heavens, and threw a lurid light 
over all the fleet and army of the besiegers. With 
speechless anxiety the trembling citizens watched the 
path of the burning projectiles through the air, while 
the British soldiers and sailors from afar beheld the hea- 
vens tracked by innumerable stars, which seemed to 
realize more than the fabled splendors of Oriental 



LOSS OF THE DANISH NAVT. 161 

fireworks. At length the obvious danger of the total 
destruction of the city, hy the progress of the flames, 
overcame the firmness of General Peymann, to whom 
the prince-royal had delegated the command, and a flag 
of truce appeared at the British outposts to treat for a 
capitulation." 

The battle was over, and the British troops entered 
the city as victors, but it was over a scene of desolation. 
One-eighth part of Copenhagen was laid in ashes. In a 
few weeks the army evacuated the city, and the fleet 
returned to England, taking with it the splendid prize 
of the whole Danish navy — eighteen ships of the line, 
and fifteen frigates, besides other vessels of war. That 
was a dark day for Copenhagen. It was with bitter, 
manly tears, that the high-spirited Danes lined the quays 
and saw that magnificent fleet sail out of the harbor, and 
bear away through the Sound never to return. 

This expedition produced a great sensation all over 
Europe. It was denounced as a flagrant violation of the 
rights of nations. Certainly it was an extreme measure, 
which nothing could justify but an absolute necessity — 
a necessity of self-preservation, which could only be ob- 
tained by this terrible sacrifice. But whatever the rea- 
sons of state which excused this daring step, it was a 
great disaster to the power of Denmark, and one from 
which she has never recovered. 

A few years later, and yet another blow was struck at 
the power and rank of this ancient kingdom. But now 



162 SUMMER PICTURES.. 

it was not dealt by the arm of Britain, but by the com- 
bined force of all the allied powers. To punish Den- 
mark for her fidelity to Napoleon, she was forced in 
1814 to cede the whole of Norway to her rival, Sweden. 
It might, indeed, seem more natural that Norway should 
be united to a country which lies by her side through- 
out the whole length of the Scandinavian Peninsula. 
But the Norwegians are more closely related to the 
Danes than to the Swedes, by race and language, and 
historical traditions. The Danish and modern Norwe- 
gian language are the same. Thus the people are one 
people, and the countries ought to be parts of one king- 
dom. With the loss of Norway, the humiliation of Den- 
mark was complete. Her colonial possessions are now 
reduced to the frozen shores of Iceland and Greenland, 
to the Faroe Islands, and to the small islands of St. 
Thomas, Santa Cruz and St. John, in the West Indies. 
Her population numbers altogether but two millions and 
a half. Of course she can no longer aspire to rank with 
the first class of European powers, but must take her 
place in the second grade of States, along with Hano- 
ver, Saxony, and Bavaria. 

Still, though so greatly crippled, the power of Den- 
mark is not wholly broken. Whoever goes through the 
arsenal at Copenhagen, and surveys the large park of 
artillery, and the glittering array of swords and bayo- 
nets, enough for one of the great standing armies of Eu- 
rope, will see that with such means of defence in the 



THE COUNTKY STILL RICH AND HAPPY. 163 

hands of a brave people, Denmark can still present a 
formidable front. In the late war in Holstein — even 
though divided against herself, with a populous province 
in open rebellion, backed by the secret aid of Germany, 
she kept a large army in the field, and at last came off 
victorious. Her navy, too, though greatly reduced, is 
still by no means despicable. The Danes are natural 
seamen. With a country surrounded by the waves, 
they early learn to venture on the deep. Their fisheries 
still nurture a hardy race. A large number of the sailors 
in the English navy, and in our own, are Danes. These 
bold mariners, though now scattered over all the oceans 
of the world, form a maritime force in reserve, that in case 
of need might rally for the defence of their island home. 
But if this be not a great nation, it may still be a very 
happy one. And such I beheve it is. We have been 
equally gratified with the appearance of the country and 
of the people, and that after a very good opportunity of 
seeing all parts of the kingdom. The country itself 
is rich. The land is highly cultivated. The opening 
of railroads gives a new spring to industry in all parts 
of the kingdom, and ships still fill the ports, and Danish 
sails whiten the Baltic and the neighboring seas. The 
elements of public happiness are very widely diffused, 
and we reflect with satisfaction that, if the period of 
glory is past, it has been succeeded by an age of peace 
and by general prosperity, and by a glory of a different 
kind, by distinction in arts and in literature. 



164 SUMMER PICTURES. 

Denmark attracts the s}Tiipatliy of an American by 
many jDoints of resemblance to his own country. Its 
schools and its comitry churches remind him of New 
England. He finds himself among people of the same 
Protestant faith, who are kindred with him by many ties, 
and in fact who claim — not without reason — to be the 
original discoverers of his comitry. We are still related 
to the Danes by blood. The light hair and fair blue 
eyes, which many daughters of America have derived 
from Saxon parentage, may be traced back f o the shores 
of the Baltic. 

I am happy to find the relations between Denmark 
and my own country now harmonious and pleasant, espe- 
cially as at one time they threatened to be broken. The 
vexed Sound Dues question, which has been a subject of 
so much discussion between the two governments, is at 
last settled amicably, and to the satisfaction of both 
parties — settled in the only just and equitable way, by a 
compromise, the United States having paid dovm four 
hundred thousand dollars as an equivalent for all dues on 
American vessels hereafter trading to the Baltic. This 
sum sounds large in the gross, but it was a very excellent 
bargain for us. For the same release from future tolls 
on British vessels, England paid six millions of dollars, 
and the other European States in j^roj^ortion to their 
commercial interest in it. No doubt our coimtry was 
right iu wishing an end to be put to a system of dues, 
which looked like a tribute to a foreign power. But as 



RELATIONS TO AMERICA. 165 

an American, I can but wish that the demand had been 
made a Httle more graciously, and in a way not to offend 
the pride of an old ally — one which had settled a former 
claim of ours in the most generous and honorable spirit. 
It is a curious fact, not generally known in our country, 
that a few years ago, a claim was brought against Den- 
mark for losses incurred during the wars in Euroj^e — a 
claim which by many was considered a very doubtful 
one according to the law of nations — yet, through the 
good offices of our minister, Mr. Wheaton, who resided 
many years at Copenhagen, and did much to secure for 
us the respect of both the government and the nation — 
it was allowed by Denmark, which thereon actually paid 
to the United States over seven hundred thousand dollars ! 
This was an instance of honorable dealing, which cer- 
tainly merited a like return. Bat courtesy is spoiled by 
politicians, Avho hope to make capital out of their patri- 
otic bluster, and who thus make our country appear 
abroad in a very unamiable light. But let that pass. 
The question, at last, is settled, owing, I think, very 
much to the excellent tact and good sense both of the 
late and the present Danish ministers. And now that 
this only bone of contention is out of the way, let us 
hope that the old friendly feelings between the two 
nations will be restored, and become stronger than ever. 
Another point of sympathy between Denmark and 
America, is common liberal institutions. Deumark is one 
of the few free countries of Europe, standing in tliis be- 



166 SUMMER PICTURES. 

side Holland and England. Like them, it has a king, but 
in no way is the liberty of the subject restricted. Men 
think, write, and speak, as freely as in England or in our 
own Rej)ul)lic. 

The king, Frederic YII., is rather an eccentric mon- 
arch. He has had two wives, and divorced them both. 
He is now married for the third time, and certainly this 
was not a marriage for reasons of state, but for love, 
since he chose, not a princess, but a milliner. The mar- 
riage however was duly solemnized by the bishop. 
He gave her a title, that of Countess of Banner, and 
they now live together. She is said to be a very clever 
woman, and to exert a good influence in steadying the 
somewhat fickle mind of the king. 

This is not a very safe example for a king to set to 
his people. But we must give every one his due. This 
rather free and easy monarch, though he cannot be con- 
sidered a good family man, and is not a pattern of the 
domestic virtues, politically has some noble qualities. 
His principles are rather liberal for a king. When 
he was but a prince, he declared his intention, if he 
succeeded to the crown, to give his people a con- 
stitution. He ascended the throne in January, 1848, 
just before the revolutions broke out in Europe, 
and his first act was to carry his noble j^urpose 
into execution. This fidelity to his engagement appears 
the more honorable, when contrasted with the conduct 
of many of the sovereigns of Europe, who have made 



THE KING. 167 

great professions m a moment of peril, and as soon as 
they felt themselves secure, have broken every promise, 
and even violated their sacred oaths. It was perhaps 
owing to this wise and timely concession that the storm 
of revolution, which burst over Europe in 1848, and 
which swept Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, did not reach to 
Copenhagen. Since the failure of those revolutions there 
has been a reaction throughout Europe towards more 
rigid absolutism, and kings have broken their solemn 
pledges made to their people in the hour of calamity, 
without hesitation or scruple. But the king of Denmark, 
to his honor be it said, has 7iever hrohen his oath. I am 
told that the troubles in Holstein, which were secretly 
fomented by Prussia, and whose cause was baptized with 
the high-sounding name of German nationality, would 
have been allayed at once if Frederic VII. had yielded 
to the reaction, and followed the perfidious example of 
the German courts. Such fidelity, against all the temp- 
tations of royal power, is a noble trait in the Danish 
monarch, and may cover a multitude of sins. It quite 
explains the strong attachment, which, in spite of all 
his faults, this people feel for their true-hearted sove-. 
reign. 

The king is noAV fifty years old — or will be on the 6th 
of October — and he has no children. Hence, of course, 
much interest is felt in the succession to the throne. 
There is a party among the Danes, which hopes for a 
union of Denmark with Norway and Sweden, in which 



168 SUMMER PICTURES. 

case it is probable that Carl, the Crown Prince of Sweden, 
would succeed to the throne of the united realms. 

Since 1848, all Europe has been stirred with questions 
about unity and nationality. Everywhere there is a 
longing for all of the same race, and ^?ho speak the same 
language, to be united under the same government. 
Thus we hear of German unity and Italian imity. So the 
political dreamers of the North form great hopes of a 
Scandinavian unity. Denmark, jN'orway, and Sweden, 
united, would make a powerful monarchy, which could 
once more take a place among the great sovereignties of 
Europe. 

Meanwhile, awaiting this political confederacy, the 
writers of the North have sought to revive the spirit and 
life of the people by creating a worthy Scandinavian lite- 
rature. Danish scholars have explored the antiquities 
of the North, and brought to light traces of a race so 
remote, as would almost prove that Scandinavia was the 
cradle of Europe. I hardly know a more interesting 
collection than that in the Museum of Northern Antiqui- 
ties. We were shown through it by Professor Thomsen 
himself, who explained to us the character of the remains, 
which are arranged in the order of periods. First, is a 
whole cabinet filled with knives, and axes, and hammers, 
and arrow-heads, all of stone, Avhich point to a period 
when even the use of iron was unknown. Then we trace 
century by century, the introduction of the successive 
metals, iron, copper, gold and silver, till we approach the 



THORWALDSEX. 169 

confines of modern civilization. How full of interest are 
these traces of the arts of peace, or weapons of war, 
mingled with the sepulchral urns Avhich contained the 
ashes of mighty chiefs, dead thousands of years ago, 
buried with the simple domestic utensils which they were 
to bear with them to the Halls of Valhalla. 

Besides these antiquarian researches, Danish and 
Swedish writers have sought to make known to Europe, 
the present life of the people. In this they have been 
successful, and many whose names are well known in 
England and America, have given a new interest to their 
pine forests and their rocky shores. 

Here in Copenhagen, especially, one feels the power of 
a single name, great in letters or in art, to giv-c glory to 
a country. To-day, when the foreigner turns to Den- 
mark, of what does he first think ? Not of its army or 
navy — but of one man, Thokwaldsex. Here the great 
sculptor was born, and here, though he spent a large 
part of his life in Rome, he came back to die. Here are 
gathered all the trophies of his genius, a vast monument 
to his memory. 

The Museum of Thorwaldsen is one of the shrines of 
art in Europe, not as extensive, but in the department 
of sculpture, as well worth seeing as the galleries of the 
Louvre, or the Vatican. No sculptor that ever lived has 
comprised a greater range and variety of subjects, from 
the humblest to the highest. Even in the molding of 
beasts and birds, he shows a marvellous vigor as Avell as 

8 



170 SUMMER PICTURES. 

truth to nature. What sj^irit in his eagle fed by Gany- 
mede ; what majesty in his sleeping lions ! At the same 
time, no one ever conceived more grandly of tlie human 
form divine. His types of manly beauty are ahnost equal 
to the Apollo. He has even bodied forth a nobler man- 
hood in his group of the Twelve Apostles, in the midst 
of whom walks a majestic form like nnto the Son of 
God. 

No one ever caught better the old Greek spirit, or ren- 
dered with more force and feeling the fables of the classic 
mythology. I do not tliink he is so happy in his grand 
historical compositions, like the triumph of Alexander. 
Not that he ever fails, but here he seems less at home. 
He succeeds best in rendering simple nature. No one 
ever felt more intensely the poetry of life, or has pre- 
sented more beautiful ideals of man and woman — of 
childhood and youth, and old age. So of his emblems 
of the seasons of the year, of spring and summer, and 
autumn and winter, and of the successions of day and 
night. His Night and Morning are known all over the 
world. You cannot imagine the number and variety of 
the bas reliefs which cover these walls. As I walk 
through these long corridors filled with his creations, I 
am amazed at the richness and fertility of his genius. 
What troops of airy fancies have flown out of that capa- 
cious brahi, like doves from their windows — aerial forms 
of grace and beauty, that henceforth live in the world's 
love and admiration like the eternal types of nature. 



THORWALDSEN. 171 

In one department alone he seems less at home, m de- 
picting the passions of fear and hate. "No writhing 
Laocoons, or wailing Niobes, or dying gladiators, here 
bend in mortal agony. His heart, strong and gentle, 
delights rather in emblems of innocence and love, and 
youth and hope. Nay, even when depicting death, as in 
his designs for sepulchral monuments, his fancy seizes at 
once some emblem of the resurrection — of life beyond 
the grave. 

What holy beauty does he give to life's daily wonder 
of Sleep, and to the last solemn mystery of Death. The 
marble has hardly ceased to breathe, and the spectator, 
awe-struck before the mute countenance, almost bows 
weeping on the cold and stony lips. Wandering among 
these silent forms, we murmur our thoughts in the open- 
ing lines of " Queen Mab," which might have been written 
after seeing these sculptures : 

" How wonderful is Death — 

Death and his brother Sleep ! 
One pale as yonder waning moon, 

With lips of lurid blue ; 
The other, rosy as the morn, 

When throned on ocean's wave, 

It blushes o'er the world ; 
Yet both so passing wonderful!" 

Such was Thorwaldsen — the son of a poor ship-car- 
penter from Iceland — a man, who, even when courted 
by princes, never lost the grand simplicity of his charac- 
ter, and — as one told me, who knew him well — who 



172 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

" always wondered that people made so much of him, 
and thought thej were very kind." 

It was fitting that he who made death thus beautiful 
should be laid to rest amid his own ever fresh images of 
life. The museum erected by the nation to receive the 
works of Thorwaldsen is the noblest monument to his 
fame, and there, in the central court, is the old man's 
grave. No one who has seen the Danes gather round 
that sacred spot, or marked how affectionately they speak 
of him, so lately gone, can but feel that that great name 
is itself a centre of unity, and supplies to them in some 
degree the place of political power or military glory. , Here 
then, if we have not great armies and navies to restore 
the ancient power of this state of Denmark, we have a 
far purer glory to gild its decline. If the sun does not 
rise over the Baltic, and cast its full blaze upon the 
towers and spires of Co^^enhagen, still this northern 
capital has a splendor of its own, in the Auroras which 
stream up so brilliantly in these cold heavens, and shed 
a starry light upon her pinnacles. 

Here ends our journey to the North. We had intended 
to visit Norway, Sweden, and Russia, before our return. 
But time fails. The summer is flying, and in Norway 
the facilities for travelling are so meagre, that one's pro- 
gress must be very slow. Six weeks at least would be 
necessary to see Norway and Sweden, and a month more 
for Russia. This time we have not to spare, as we have 



LEAVING THE NORTH. 173 

yet to traverse the whole of Germany. It is tantalizing 
to sail along the shores of Sweden, and not set foot npon 
it, or to be within three days of St. Petersburg, and not 
visit it. But as we must make a choice of countries, for 
the present we j^i'^fer to see Germany, and therefore 
shall leave to-morrow to cross the Baltic, on our way to 
Berlin. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Crossing the Baltic — Germany — Berlin, a dull City except for 
Scholars — Manners of the People — Frederick the Great — The 
Prussian Army — Political Discontent— Signs of Revolution. 

Berlin, August 2, 1858. 

It was a pleasant summer afternoon on which we bade 
adieu to Denmark. For several days the Baltic had 
been lashed by a storm. But at length the gale had 
spent its force, and the troubled waves sunk to rest. 
For hours after we left the quay, we sat on deck watch- 
ing the spires of Copenhagen till they disappeared 
below the horizon. On the other side of the Sound 
the shores of Sweden were full in sight, overshadowed 
by warlike memories of Charles Xll., and the great 
Gustavus Adolphus, and the still greater Gustavus Vasa, 
and attracting a fonder regard from thoughts of the 
brave, simple people that dwell by their lakes and their 
rocky fiords, and in their pine forests. 

It was with a feeling of reverence, almost of awe, that 
we approached the shores of Germany — that vast terri- 
tory occupied by the mighty race that speak the Ger- 
man tongue — spreading over the whole of central 
Europe, frona the Baltic to the Adriatic, and from 



APPROACH TO GERMANY. l75 

Poland to the Rhine, As we drew near the coast, we 
passed the isle of Riigen, whose white chalk cliffs, like 
those of Albion, reflected the morning sun ; and which, 
from its beautiful and somewhat English scenery, 
and from being a favorite summer resort of the fashion- 
able world, is sometimes called the German Isle of 
Wight. This island, with the neighboring coast of 
Pomerania, was the cradle of those terrible barbarians, 
who, issuing out of their forests, swept over Europe and 
finally planted their victorious ensigns on the seven hills 
of Rome. 

Early in the morning we found ourselves in a broad 
river, with low marshy banks on either side. This was 
the Oder, one of the great outlets for the commerce of 
Germany. Here, on an island, more than two hundred 
years ago, landed Gustavus Adolphus with the vanguard 
of that Swedish army that was to carry the banner of 
Protestantism through so many hard-fought battles in 
the Thirty Years' War. Like a Christian warrior, no 
sooner had he touched the soil than he knelt upon the 
ground, and implored the protection and favor of the 
Almighty. A few hours more brought us to Stettin — a 
town of little interest except as a port for the Baltic 
trade — though honored (if it be an honor) as the birth- 
place of the Russian empress Catherine. The same 
afternoon we reached the Prussian capital. 

Berlm offers fewer objects to interest a stranger than 
almost any of the capitals of Europe. It is the newest 



176 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

of them all, only dating as a royal city, from the time 
of Frederick the Great. It has not a smgle advantage 
of position to render it imposing. It stands in the cen- 
tre of a vast sandy j^lain, looking from a distance as soli- 
tary and desolate as Tadmor in the wilderness. It is 
said that the city took its present proportions from an 
arbitrary command of Frederick, who, wishing to have 
a great capital, inclosed an immense space with a wall 
and commanded it to be filled with houses. Of com-se 
the only way to obey the royal decree was to scatter 
the houses as widely as possible, and as they w^ere but 
few, leaving them also far between. Hence the streets are 
the widest, and longest, and flattest that we have seen in 
any city in Europe. The houses, too, are generally not 
more than two stories high, and being built of brick and 
stuccoed, present a very dull and monotonous a2)j)earance. 
There are not more than about a dozen stately edi- 
fices in all Berlin, and these are within a stone's throw 
of each other. From our windows in the Hotel de Rus- 
sie, we can see almost every one of them. But a step 
across the bridge is the Royal Palace — a vast pile, but 
grand only from its size, built, not of eternal granite or 
polished marble, but of brick, stuccoed, which, owing to 
the damp climate, is constantly peeling off, thus leaving 
the palace, as royalty itself sometimes is left, in a state 
of sorry nakedness. On the other side of the square is 
the New Museum — perhaps the finest edifice in Berlin, 
and near at hand, on the Unter den Linden, are the 



MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE. 177 

Arsenal, the Opera, the Academy of Fme Arts, the Royal 
Library and the University. 

But if Berlin is not a very splendid capital, it has 
other attractions, esjoecially for scholars and literary men. 
It is the intellectual centre of Germany. Here reside 
Humboldt and Hitter, and hundreds of men of science. 
Of course the assemblage of such a number of learned 
savans gives to the city a scholarly character, which 
offers great advantages to students from all parts of Eu- 
rope and from America. 

Socially, I am much pleased with the Germans as I 
was with their cousins, the Dutch. There is a heartiness 
in their broad " Yah, yah," and " ISTein, nein," which does 
me good to hear. There is only one thing in German 
manners which I cannot get along with, and that is the 
universal habit of smoking. The whole German race seems 
to live in an atmosphere of smoke and beer. Germany is 
the land of pipes and mugs. All classes of people, from 
the highest to the lowest, smoke and drink, and drink and 
smoke. They smoke at all times and in all places, in the 
house and by the way, in public gardens, and in railway 
carriages, when they lie down and when they rise up. 
They smoke before breakfast, and smoke after dinner. 
Morning, noon and night, smoke, smoke, smoke. In- 
deed I believe a German's idea of heaven is as a place 
where every man is provided with a huge meerschaum, 
with which extended before him, he sits in repose, his 
spiiit absorbed in dreams, while perpetual wreaths float 

8* 



178 SUMMER PICTURES. 

around his head, the symbol of eternal beatitude. If it 
be so that this is the German's heaven, I desire to enter 
some other apartment in the celestial mansions, marked 
like the ladies' railway carriages, FiXr NicJitrauclier. 

The great number of soldiers in Berlin gives a military 
air to the streets. Prussia maintains a standing army 
of nearly half a million of men, and perhaps no army in 
Europe is more highly disciplined. Every soldier is 
practised in all manly exercises. The aim of his mili- 
tary education is to develop first of all his bodily activ- 
ity, and then to combine the personal strength of these 
hundreds and thousands of athletic and stalwart men in 
one irresistible armed force. The thoroughness with 
which this military drill is carried out, produces the 
highest degree of effectiveness in the whole body. Sev- 
eral times a year a grand review of the troops takes 
place in the Thiergarten outside of the city walls, and 
no one who has seen these sohd battalions marching 
across the plain, shaking the earth with their tread, or 
watched their swift evolutions, the rapid movement of 
the ponderous artillery, the wheeling and charging of 
the squadrons of cavalry, can doubt that the military 
force of Prussia will be a tremendous weight to be 
thrown into the scale, in the case of a general European 
war. 

As Prussia is one of the later European monarchies, 
the historical interest of its capital is less than that of 
most others. Yet here the stranger is awed by the con- 



FEEDEKICK THE GREAT. 179 

stant presence of one imperial name. I am not one of 
Carlyle's hero worshippers, yet I cannot but share in large 
degree in his admiration for the great Frederick. Here, 
in the heart of the kingdom which he created, in the 
capital which he founded, one cannot refuse homage to 
his vast civil as well as military genius. It is not with 
blind admiration for a successful warrior, but with 
the far higher respect due to the founder of an empire, 
that I look up to the colossal equestrian statue, which 
stands under the trees of the Unter den Linden ; or 
that I visited at Potsdam the room in Avhich he died, 
and saw the very chair on which he bowed his kingly 
head, and the clock on .the mantel which stood still at 
the very hour when that lion heart ceased to beat. 

You will wish to learn something of the political 
state of Germany. I am not gomg to plunge into the 
troubled sea of German politics. A traveller passing 
rapidly through a country, spending but a few days in 
its principal cities, of course cannot see much below the 
surface of things. I shall speak, therefore, only of what is 
very obvious. On the outside the appearance of things is 
more favorable than we looked for. We came into Ger- 
many expecting to find the people greatly oppressed, and 
looking soured and gloomy, and we find, on the contrary, 
that they are very gay and cheerful, and seem to enjoy 
a high degree of prosperity. To be sure, they have on 
now their best look. The whole continent is at peace, 
and while the earth is not ravaged by war, the industry 



180 SUMMER PICTURES. 

of man cannot fail to secure general comfort. In Prus- 
sia there is also a greater degree of liberty than in Aus- 
tria, and to the eye of the stranger, the nation seems to 
be powerful and prosj^erous. 

Yet even here there are signs, no bigger than a man's 
hand, that a future day may bring clouds and storms. 
The revolutions of 1848, though apparently checked and 
put down, have yet done their work in the hearts of the 
people. Throughout Germany, and especially here in 
Prussia, there is a strong desire for liberal institutions. 
We are told that the king does not reside much at 
his palace in the capital, but prefers the retirement of 
Potsdam; that he does not like the people of Berlin, 
probably from remembrance of the rough lesson they 
gave him in 1848. He cannot forget the humiliations 
of that day when he was called out on the balcony of 
his palace and made to take off his hat to the mob. 
As he had to abase himself before the populace then, 
since he recovered his grasp of power, he has felt the 
bitterest animosity towards aU who may have contri- 
buted to his humiliation. The reaction here has taken a 
character of personal rancor which i^ursues its enemies 
even in the grave. The insurgents who fell in the street 
conflicts of '48, are buried without the walls in a deso- 
late spot, which is surrounded by a thick hedge, on pur- 
pose to hide their dishonored graves from popular notice 
and the tribute of public sjnnpathy. Such is the temj)er 
of the king Frederick William towards his people. Nor 



SIGNS OF REVOLUTION. 181 

is there much love lost on then* side. I am assured by 
persons who have the best means of information, that 
affairs, though calm on the surface, are far from being 
settled, and that a revolution in Paris would instantly be 
followed by one in Berlin. The change may not come 
this year or next, but France will not always submit to 
an absolute despotism, and when the explosion comes 
there, then must we look for a universal conflagration. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Dresden — ^Position on the Elbe — Beauty of the City and its 
Environs — Attractions to Strangers — Picture Gallery — The 
King— The Battle op Dresden. 

Of all the German capitals, none unites so many charms 
to invite the traveller, and especially to attract and de- 
tain foreign residents, as Dresden, the caj^ital of Saxony. 
It is not the centre of an empire like Prussia or Aus- 
tria, where the heart of a great monarchy beats, but it 
is a more beautiful city than Berlin, and breathes a freer 
air than Vienna. On a smaller scale it is a capital. It 
has its own kingdom and court, its palaces and royal 
gardens, while its picture gallery, the best in all the 
north of Europe, has obtained for it the name of the 
German Florence. It is celebrated also for its music, 
which is displayed for public admiration alike in churches 
and operas. It is not a great commercial city, crowded 
with bustle and trade. It has rather a quiet, dignified 
air, as if it were the home only of gentlemen and schol- 
ars. Its citizens do not rush through the streets, like 
bilious-looking Yankees, in chase of money. They walk 
along with a sedate and reverend air. The garden-like 



DRESDEN. 183 

squares of the city, suiTounded by elegant private resi- 
dences, seem to mark tlie abodes, not of ambitious 
tradesmen, but of men of wealth aiid taste, who have 
retired from active life, to devote themselves to pursuits 
of learning and of art. On these accounts Dresden is a 
favorite resort for artists and literary men, both of Ger- 
many and other countries. Many of the English come 
here to reside. They find a milder climate, and liv- 
ing less expensive than in their own country, while they 
have all advantages of education for their children, with 
the enjoyment of a refined and cultivated society for 
themselves. If besides they seek for bold scenery, for 
rocks and mountains, these they can. find within a day's 
reach by making excursions mto the Saxon Switzerland. 
For a man of elegant tastes, what more could be desired 
than this quiet enjoyment of learning and leisure, sur- 
rounded at once by the beauties of nature and immortal 
w^orks of art? 

Dresden derives its chief beauty from its position, on 
the banks of a broad and noble river, the Elbe. Rising in 
the mountains of Bohemia, this lordly river flows darkly 
between the frowning fortresses of Konigstein and Lilli- 
enstein, and then bursts joyously away. through the sunny 
plains of Saxony, flowing on a hundred leagues till it passes 
beneath the heights of Plamburg, and its warm life is 
chilled in the cold waters of the northern sea. At Dres- 
den it is spanned by a bridge of many arches, which 
leads across to the foot of the Royal Palace, and as the 



184 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

trareller ai^proaches from the opposite bank, he sees a 
line of terraces and lofty piles reflected in the waters. 

The chief attraction of Dresden is its picture gallery, 
which is, beyond comparison, the finest in Germany, and 
is surpassed only by the great collections of Paris and 
of Italy. The Dresden gallery has long been the pride 
of the Saxon court, and successive sorereigns have 
added to its treasui-es. For a wonder it has escaped in 
all the sieges and bombardments to which Dresden has 
been exposed. Russell, in his Tour in Gennany, mentions 
the somewhat cmious and honorable fact that " it has 
had the rare fortune to be treated with reverence by 
every hostile hand. Frederick the Great bombarded 
Dresden, battered do^^Ti its churches, laid its streets in 
ruins, but ordered his cannon and moitars to keejD clear 
of the picture gallery. He entered as a conqueror, lev- 
ied the taxes, administered the government, and with an 
affectation of humility, asked pennission of the captive 
Electress to visit the gallery as a stranger !" Xapoleon, 
too, who plundered all the galleries of Italy to enrich 
the Louvre, respected that of Dresden, since the King 
of Saxony was his best friend among the German 
princes, and indeed the only one who proved his devo- 
tion by being faithful to the last. 

Of course, I am not going to attempt to describe this 
Wilderness of Art, for I have found, in reading books 
of travel, nothing so wearisome and imsatisfactory as 
descriptions of paintings. It is enough to say that the 



THE PICTUKE GALLERY. 185 

collection is one of the largest in Europe, and embraces 
contributions from all the most distinguished schools — 
not only Italian, but German and Flemish, French and 
Spanish. These are arranged in such order that the 
stranger, in passing from hall to hall, passes from comi- 
try to country and age to age. !N'ow he finds himself in 
a room with Guido and Correggio, and now with Titian 
and the Venetian masters ; and now he is transferred to 
the Low Countries, studying the mmute Dutch pictures 
of Teniers, or the brawny figures of Rubens, and the 
dark backgrounds and sombre foreheads of Rembrandt. 
But the glory of the Dresden gallery is the Madonna 
di San Sisto of Rafiaelle. This is certainly one of the 
most majestic figures ever painted on canvas. I am no 
connoisseur, nor do I think it any mark of sense for tra- 
vellers to go into raptures before paintings which they 
cannot comprehend. Many of the paintings by the Old 
Masters, which are very celebrated, I confess I see no 
beauty in. N'o doubt the beauty is there, but I can't 
see it. But a man must be a stock who can stand un- 
moved before this divine form, soaring to heaven with 
the infant Saviour in her arms. "We recognize here at 
once the same genius which glows in the Transfiguration 
at Rome. 

' Dresden has other treasures for those curious in such 
things, in a collection of crown jewels and of ancient 
armor far superior to that in the Tower of London. The 
kings of Saxony are among the richest sovereigns of 



J 86 SUMMER PICTURES. 

Europe, and the display of rare gems in the Green Vault 
of the palace, is dazzling to the eye, and reminds one of 
the fabulous riches of the East. 

The environs of Dresden are even more beautiful than 
the city itself. The hills along the Elbe are sprinkled 
with princely villas, which look dowTi on the valley and 
the river. Wide fields and gentle slopes invite to ex- 
cursions in every direction. Each afternoon we took a 
long drive. One of these was to the Grosse Garten, an 
extensive park beyond the walls, in which the king has 
a summer palace. We had been ridmg, it seemed to us, 
for miles through the avenues, when we stopped at a 
cottage, under the trees, to take ice cream. While 
the waiter was bringing it out to the carriage, our coach- 
man cried " The king ! the king !" We looked up and 
saw a coach and four, with outriders, wheeling raj)idly 
toward us. We stood up to get a full view of the face 
of majesty. As the tram swept by, I lifted my chapeau 
with all due reverence, to which the old king, baring his 
white locks, bowed his head, and the queen, who sat be- 
side him, bent very low her royal face. After such a 
mark of distinction, we resumed our seats and sipped 
our ice cream with a new sense of dignity. 

Leaving the Park, we bade our driver take us out into 
the open country, that we might make the Avhole circuit 
of the city. Look! on the top of yonder hill stands a 
clump of trees, shading a granite monument. That is 
the spot where fell the brave Moreau, the hero of Hohen- 



THE BATTLE OP DRESDEN. 187 

linden. " Drive us there !" Our coachman was a good, 
honest fellow, full of zeal to show us all the sights of 
Dresden, and with a natural Saxon j)ride in the great 
battle which had been fought around the walls of his 
city, he started off at a rapid rate, and though the dis- 
tance was pretty long, and the ascent steep, he soon 
brought us to the place. We got out and walked to the 
trees, and there stood for a long time, leaning on the 
monument and looking down upon the field of battle. 
This was the very spot. All along these heights stretched 
the Russian and Austrian armies, two hundred thousand 
strong, while below fluttered the ensigns of France. 
Where we stood, the Emperor Alexander, with Moreau 
at his side, had taken his post of observation, to watch 
the events of that dreadful day. The quick eye of Napo- 
leon, from the walls of the city, spied this party recon- 
noitering the field. He called an ofiicer, and bade him 
throw a cannon-shot into the group. The fatal ball struck 
Moreau, and carried off both his legs. Yet even at this 
moment he did not lose his courage. Carried to the rear, 
he stretched out his bleeding limbs, and coolly smoked a 
cigar, while the surgeon performed the dreadful task of 
amputation. He died a few days after, in the same un- 
shaken temper, an irreparable loss to the allied army. 

Looking doAvm from these heights, how distinctly did 
I recall the descriptions of the battle of Dresden which 
I had read years ago. Hardly any scene in the career 
of the Great Captain was more vividly imprinted on my 



188 SUMMER PICTURES. 

memory, for none seemed more dramatic in its incidents. 
It was Napoleon's last campaign in Germany. The ex- 
pedition to Russia the year before had ended in utter 
ruin. Hoping by superhuman exertions to retrieve these 
disasters, and still to remain master of Germany, he had 
at length succeeded, by draining France almost of its last 
man, in bringing into the heart of Germany another army 
of more than a quarter of a million. This was arrayed 
along the line of the Elbe, from Dresden to Hamburg, 
and backed by six strong fortresses. Dresden was the 
centre and pivot of the whole. Such a host, under such a 
chief, would seem invincible. But half a million of sol- 
diers had perished the year before m Kussia, and the 
host of the invader might perish again. All Europe was 
in arms. His enemies were countless as the leaves of the 
forest. They came from the North and the South, and 
from the farthest East — for with the Russian army were 
wild horsemen from the interior of Asia, almost from the 
borders of China. Napoleon had anticij^ated victory by 
repeating the tactics of his Italian campaigns — attacking 
his enemies separately and beating them in detail. But 
his enemies had at last learned wisdom from bitter expe- 
rience. Besides, they had noAV with them two of Napo- 
leon's oldest and best officers, Bernadotte, the king of 
Sweden, and JNIoreau, who had been living in retirement 
in America, but had now returned by invitation of the 
Emperor of Russia to take part in the great events of this 
decisive year. By their advice, the allies agreed upon a 



THE BATTLE OF DEESDEN. 189 

plan of operations which was eminently prudent and was 
destined to be successful. It was on no account to hazard a 
battle. Whatever division was attacked was to retreat, 
and thus, if possible, draw Napoleon into the interior of 
the country. The Emperor, it seems, did not give his ene- 
mies credit for so much good judgment and such unity of 
operations, and in pursuance of his own plan, marched 
agamst Blucher. The old Prussian field marshal, who 
was a perfect bull-dog and loved nothing so much as a 
battle, still obeyed his orders, and began to retreat, but 
slowly, and turning often to renew an engagement, thus 
provoking Napoleon into a long pursuit and a series of 
attacks, which resulted in nothing, since he could never 
get close enough to the enemy to make the blow decisive. 
Thus Blucher drew him on a hundred miles into the heart 
of Silesia, when the object of the enemy became appa- 
rent. To his surprise and consternation, Napoleon 
learned that the allies, taking advantage of his absence, 
had suddenly poured through all the passes of the Bohe- 
mian mountains, and rushed down upon Dresden, resolved 
to take it at a blow. Instantly he turned upon his track, 
ordering the Imperial Guard to return by forced marches. 
The allies had surrounded the city on the 25th of August, 
and if they had attacked at once, as Moreau advised, 
Dresden must have fallen. But they waited for another 
corps to come up, and that delay proved fatal. The next 
day they began one of the most terrible assaults ever 
heard of in war. Six divisions, each preceded by fifty 



190 SUMMER PICTtJEES. 

cannon, advanced to the walls of the city and com- 
menced the most mm*derous cannonade, St. Cyr had 
but twenty thousand men with which to hold the city 
against ten times that number. Courier after courier 
was dispatched to NajDoleon to tell of his desperate ex- 
tremity. It seemed, indeed, that all was lost, when sud- 
denly from the other side of the Elbe came a tumultuous 
roar as of adA'ancing legions, and swiftly rushed into view 
the columns of the ImjDcrial Guard, with Napoleon at 
their head. A German writer, who was a witness of the 
scene, says : " It was then that for the first time I beheld 
his face. He came on with the eye of a tyrant and the 
voice of a lion, urging his breathless and eager soldiers." 
Sweej^ing over the magnificent bridges, they poured into 
the streets and squares of the city. Weary with their 
long and rapid march, they still demanded with loud 
cries to be led into immediate battle. Their wish was 
soon gratified. The gates were thrown open, and two 
columns advanced to the charge and soon changed the 
face of the battle. Surprised and dismayed at this sud- 
den resistance, the alHed commanders could only explain 
it by saying that " the Emperor must be in the city." 

Night closed the battle, but not the sufiering. It had 
been a hot summer's day, and noAV the clouds gathered 
thick, and the rain poured down in torrents. All night 
the floods swept the streets and the fields where the two 
great armies were encamped. The morning broke in the 
midst of the storm. The rain still fell in torrents, and 



THJ5 BATTLE OP DRESDEI^". 191 

the wind moaned ov€(t the field of death. But not even 
tEis war of the elements could check the fury of human 
passions. All day long the battle raged. The incessant 
explosions of a thousand cannon shook the air, and charg- 
ing squadrons rode down the bloody plain. The contest 
was long and obstinate. But the genius of Napoleon at 
length triumphed at every point, and the allied army 
were in full retreat. 

It was but forty-five years ago that Dresden saw that 
fearful carnage. And now I was standing upon that hill- 
top, and looking down upon that battle plain. All was 
calm and still. The sun was sinking peacefully- in the 
west, and the trees above us waved gently in the even- 
ing wind, as if murmuring a soft requiem for the brave. 
We returned into the city, and again walked to the cen- 
tral arch of the bridge, and looked down into the stream. 
How peacefully the waters ran, washing away from but- 
tress and battlement the stains of human blood. Welcome, 
all-healing Nature, that doth cleanse from the fair face 
of the earth the marks of human guilt. Let the winds 
bloAv and the waters flow, and sweep away every trace 
of violence and crime ! 



CHAPTER XIV. 

Sail on the Elbe — Pkague — Situation and Architecture — The 
Old Bridge — The Jews' Quarter — Synagogue and Cemetery — 
The Cathedral — Palace op the Bohemian Kings. 

Could there be a grander pass from one kingdom to 
another, than the broad bosom of a river flowing 
through a gateway of mountains ? It was thus that we 
entered from Saxony into Bohemia. We left Dresden 
for Prague by a steamer on the Elbe, and in a few hours 
were in the heart of the Saxon Switzerland. How brac- 
ing was this air of the mountains after the long and dreary 
wastes which we had traversed. Northern Germany has 
little to boast in the way of natural scenery. What Hol- 
land is, that is the w^hole of the North of Europe — a 
boundless plain, sometimes rising into gently undulating 
hills and valleys, but unbroken by mountain ridges till 
you get as far as Silesia or Saxony. 

But if we found little to admire in the North and 
West, we w^ere abundantly compensated as we ap- 
proached the East and South. For the traveller in 
search of fine scenery, the Elbe is quite as well worthy 
of a visit as the Rhine. In most respects it equals, in 

192 



SAIL ON THE ELBE. 193 

some it surpasses, the glories of "the exulting and 
aibounding river." Like that, its course is among the 
hills, but as it winds more frequently, the landscapes 
change more rapidly. From its very brink rise the 
steep ascents which sometimes tower to a tremendous 
height above the stream — now j^i'esenting a bold head 
of rock, and now covered with dark, funereal pines. 
Nor is it nature alone which lends such a charm to these 
solitudes. These summits are crowned with many a 
rock and ruin, with old castles, out of whose gates issued 
armed knights centuries ago, but which are now deserted 
and silent. As Coleridge says in his melancholy chime : 

" The knights are dust, 
Their armor rust, 
Their souls are with the saints, we trust." 

Here and there a cliff is capped with a fortress, still held 
by armed men, and huge batteries frown over the nar- 
row pass. Thus Konigstein is to the Elbe what Ehren- 
breitstein is to the Rhine. It is one of the strongest 
fortresses in Europe, and indeed almost the only one that 
has never been taken. But look ! the mountains are 
passed and the river is left behmd, and we are now rolling 
on to another valley, and a capital famed and hoary. 

No city in Germany combmes so much to interest a 
traveller as the ancient capital of Bohemia. Its situation 
Is bold and striking. Like Edinburgh, it hangs on two 



194 SUMMER PICTURES. 

hillsides, facing each other, while "the rushing Moldau" 
flows between. Its architecture is half Oriental, blos- 
soming in a hundred domes and spires, brought from 
the gorgeous East. And its history is marked for cen- 
turies by the struggle of the Christian with the Turk, 
and of the Catholic with the Protestant. No country 
in Euroj^e acted a more conspicuous part in all the reli- 
gious wars than Bohemia. The story of its greatness, 
is it not written in the chronicles of those troublous 
times ? Had I not read of Bohemian patriots and Bo- 
hemian martyrs? Of John Huss, and Jerome of 
Prague? And of the lion-hearted Ziska, who, even 
when struck with blindness, still marshalled his army 
and led it to victorious battle — nay, whose unconquered 
spirit fought even when he was dead, since he bade his 
soldiers take his skin for a drum-head, and told them 
that its beat should carry terror into the hearts of his 



enemies 



All this was running in my brain as we came up the 
valley of the Elbe, and through the passes of the Bohe- 
mian mountains. The sun was setting, as we approached 
the capital from the west, and its fiery glow was re- 
flected back from the tower of the Cathedral and the 
ancient palace of the Bohemian kings. You remember 
Longfellow's beautiful poem of the " Beleaguered City," 
founded on an old tradition of an army of the dead, 
that once encamped around the walls of Prague. The 
vision seemed to be realized to us as we entered the city. 



THE OLD BEIDGE OF PEAGUE. 195 

A thousand shadowy forms rose up from the valley of 
the Moldau, and the hillsides were covered with snowy 
tents and gleaming banners. And when I stood upon 
the old bridge which has played such a part in the many 
sieges and stormings of Prague, I found myself repeating 
the lines of Campbell, which picture one of these mur- 
derous scenes : 

" On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
Its blood-dyed waters murmuring far below." 

This bridge is perhaps the best point from which to 
take a view of the city, as it joms the two sides of the 
town, and one standing on its central arch, surveys the 
Avhole. The bridge itself is worthy of notice, as one of 
the oldest and grandest monuments of Prague. It is 
the longest bridge in Germany, longer even than that 
which spans the Elbe at Dresden. Five hundred years 
ago — in 1358 — were its sohd abutments laid in their 
watery bed. Since that time it has witnessed many 
scenes which have given it at once a historical and reli- 
gious uiterest. Here old John of Nepomuk, the patron 
saint of Prague, obtained the honors of martyrdom. 
For in times long ago it was his misfortune to be father 
confessor to a queen who confided to him some secrets 
of her life, which the king, in great wrath, demanded to 
know. But the good man held his peace. Wherefore 
the king brought him to this bridge, and pitched him 
over the parapet into the river. His body sunk, but for 



196 SUMMER PICTURES. 

three days miraculous flames burned over the spot. This 
of course was enough to make him a saint, and he is now 
regarded by the people with religious veneration. His 
shrine in the cathedral is one of the richest in the world, 
and every year, on the anniversary of his death, pilgrims 
flock to the sacred spot, sometimes to the nmnber of 
eighty thousand, and for several days the bridge is so 
blocked up ' h the kneeliag crowds that it is impossi- 
ble to pass. 

The morning after we reached the city, we took a 
carriage and a guide for the day, and began our explora- 
tions. Our first visit was to the ancient Jewish synagogue 
and cemetery. Prague contains the oldest colony of 
Jews in Europe. Indeed, they claim that it was founded 
here before the destruction of Jerusalem. For centu- 
ries they were subjected to the greatest oppression and 
cruelty. But here they have remamed, clingmg to the 
spot with a tenacity Avhich no persecutions could destroy, 
and here they have preserved more strictly than in other 
cities the peculiar customs of their people. It was 
therefore with strange curiosity that we drove first to 
the Jewish quarter of the town, to visit the old syna- 
gogue and cemetery. 

But whatever of romantic or sacred interest may be 
connected with this people, is apt to receive a pretty 
rude shock in entering the Jews' Quarter of one of the 
continental cities. The sons of Israel are not a clean 
people. They are born to dirt as the sparks fly upward. 



THE jews' quaeter. 197 

The Jews' Quarter always looks like a rag-fair. Old 
clothes flout in the faces of the passer-by, as if they 
were the very flags and ensigns of the chosen people. 
The children of the prophets delight in narrow streets, 
which are choked up with braying donkeys, bawling 
men, and screeching women. 

We drew up at the door of the synagogue, which is 
said to be eight or nine hundred years old. It looks as 
if it might date from the time of Abraham. It stands 
in the centre of the Jews' Quarter, surrounded by a maze 
of narrow streets, so choked up with the dust of centu- 
ries that they are raised several feet above the level of 
the synagogue, so that to enter it is like going down 
into a vault. The interior is dark and dingy. In some 
of their festivals the Jews burn lamps and torches with- 
out ceasing, day and night, so that the walls become 
blackened with smoke. Yet their idea of sacredness 
w^ill not alloAV the place to be cleaned. Whoso should 
lift up his hand upon it would pollute it. So it remains 
from generation to generation, venerable with age and 
dirt, faintly illumined with that " dim, religious light " 
which sentimental worshippers so much delight in. To 
worship here is indeed to sit down in sackcloth and 
ashes. After this description our lady readers will per- 
haps not count it a great privation that they are not per- 
mitted to enter this sacred place, but are obliged to hear 
the reading of the law through low arches, which open 
into a corridor outside. 



198 SUMMER PICTURES. 

Yet this dilapidated old crypt has its treasures — in its 
sacred vessels and its tapestry of cloth of gold to cover 
the holy shrine. These are the gifts of wealthy Israel- 
ites of other lands. 

Here in Prague, for a long time, the Jews were not 
permitted to live outside of a certain quarter. But now 
that rule has been relaxed in favor of the wealthy Jews, 
who have their fine town houses and country seats. 
Yet though the laws against them are repealed or are a 
dead letter, and though they may attain a high commer- 
cial position, strange to say, the antipathy of race and 
religion which exists towards them, is almost as strong 
as ever. They are still a proscribed caste. Surely, was 
there ever a people so smitten of God as this wandering 
and outcast race ? 

There is something inexpressibly mournful in this mix- 
ture of glory and degradation. Who can behold with- 
out pity and grief a people once so great and now so 
abject ? To me there is something sad in their very look. 
They have a wildness in their gaze which they seem 
to have brought with them out of the desert, a startled 
and inquiring look, as if for ages their eyes had been 
peering into the future, looking for the Messiah which 
was to come. And how they chng to the memories of 
the glory of ancient Israel ! We passed by a hospital pro- 
vided for their aged and infirm, and saw through the 
window a group of poor, old creatures, sitting on 
benches, swaying their bodies to and fro like so many 



THE CATHEDEAL. l'J9 

howling Dervishes, muttering their Hebrew prayers, 
and singing in a wild chant the same victorious psalms 
which their fathers sung on the shores of the Red Sea 
when the Lord brought them out of the house of bond- 
age. 

Hard by the synagogue is the Jewish burying-groimd 
— another i^lace of pilgrimage for the people of the Lord. 
Here, under humble stones, covered with moss, lies the 
dust of men famed in all the world for learnmg and for 
saintly virtues, old Rabbis and Masters in Israel, who, 
after waitmg in vain for the coming of the Messiah, fell 
asleep in darkness. Many of the tombs are marked by 
the symbols of their tribes. Hither come pilgruns from 
all parts of Europe, treading their w^ay wdth w^eary feet, 
that they may kneel, and weep, and pray at the tomb 
of the fathers of their people. They leave behind little 
pebbles, placed upon the tombs by respectful hands, the 
poor tokens of their love and veneration. 

From these memorials of ruui and decay we turn at 
once to princely halls and imperial grandeur. Across 
the Moldau, on the brow of a hill which rears its head 
erect and lofty as the castled crag of Edinburgh, stands 
the vast pile of the Hradschin, the palace of the ancient 
Bohemian kings. Our horses had a hard pull up the 
steep ascent. At length we wheeled around uj^on the 
summit, which commands a view of the whole city be- 
neath, and of the valley for miles. Here stands the 
cathedral — a structure that was intended to be very 



200 SUMMER PICTURES. 

magnificent, but that never reached its full proportions, 
and whose actual grandeur has been shattered by the 
storm of war. Over its head flew the bombs of Frederic 
the Great, and its sacred roof did not escape. In fact, 
the great captain found the high tower an excellent tar- 
get for his guns, and told his artillerists to point their 
cannon against it. The very first shot struck it, and dur- 
mg the siege two hundred and fifteen balls passed 
through the roof, and in the end the church received 
more than fifteen hundred! One of these balls still 
hangs in the church, as a memorial of the fiery ordeal 
through which it passed. 

But the cathedral is especially interesting for its treas- 
ures. Here is the rich shrine of St. John ISTepomuk, the 
tomb and its ornaments containing nearly two tons of 
silver ! But even this is less precious than the bones of 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, which are here kept for the 
wonder of the faithful, and the pocket handkerchief of 
the Virgin Mary ! 

The palace is interesting rather from its historical 
associations than from its architectural grandeur. It is 
a vast range of buildings — being larger than the palace 
at Vienna. It was the residence of the Bohemian kings, 
and when their country passed under the power of Aus- 
tria, here were devised plots against Bohemian liberty. 
In the front of the palace is a hall of council where met 
the advisers of Ferdinand II., and where they were 
startled one day by the appearance of a body of depu- 



PALACE OF THE BOHEMIAN KINGS. 201 

ties, who burst into the room, demanding that they 
should cease from their plots against the nation; and 
who, finding no redress, seized two of the boldest and 
pitched them out of the window, a distance of eighty- 
feet. Their lives were saved, somewhat ingloriously, by 
falling on a dunghill. This act of popular violence was 
the beginning of the Thirty Years' War. In the same 
room we were shown the table on which, at the close of 
that war, was signed the Treaty of Westphalia. 

Of late this old palace seems to be devoted to de- 
funct royalties. Here, Charles X., after being driven 
from France, passed the poor remnant of his days, and 
here now resides that old granny, the late Emperor Fer- 
dinand. I would not speak evil of dignities, but every- 
body knows that the late sovereign of Austria is half an 
idiot, who hardly knows enough to go in the house when 
it rains, and as in 1848, the year of revolutions, it 
rained very hard, there was nothing for him to do but 
to make a rapid retreat. Here he spends his days 
chiefly in mumbling prayers to the Virgin. His queen 
finds it pretty dull business, and so she goes off* to 
Vienna or to Italy, to enjoy herself as well as she can. 

At present the ancient Bohemian liberties are pretty 
effectually extinguished. The young Emperor of Aus- 
tria, I believe, has not taken the trouble to be crowned 
King of Bohemia, nor King of Hungary. Both king- 
doms are absorbed in the one great Empire. Yet here 
are elements which do not readily coalesce. The Bohe- 

9* 



202 SUMMER PICTURES. 

mians are not Germans. Of the hundred and fifty thou- 
sand inhabitants of Prague, more than half are native 
Bohemians, who cherish a lively remembrance of their 
grand national history. Nor can they easily submit to 
the rule of the foreigner. As I wander about these 
streets, and listen to the music of the military bands, 
which is celebrated throughout Europe for its plaintive 
character, it seems as if the voice of the nation found 
utterance in these wild airs ; as if they were mourning 
for the glorious days of Huss and of Ziska. 



1. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Protestantism in Bohemia — Early Reformation — John Huss — 
The University op Prague — Huss burnt at Constance— The 
Wars which followed — Blind Ziska — The Thirty Years' "War 
— Wallenstein — Present State of Protestantism in Bohemia. 

The saddest thing which I behold in the streets of 
Prague, is — not the Austrian soldiers, nor the downcast 
Jews — but the decline and almost utter extinction of 
Protestantism. No country in Europe acted a more con- 
spicuous part in the early Reformation than Bohemia. 
Nearly five hundred years ago, the first dawn of that 
day which w^as to spread over half of Europe, touched 
almost at the same time the mountains of Bohemia and 
the white clifi*s of England. These two countries were 
then closely connected by marriage of royal houses, and 
by the ties of learning and a common faith. In England, 
Wickliffe had begun to teach the pure faith of the Gos- 
pel, and among those who read his writings, and caught 
his spirit, was the future apostle and martyr of Bohemia, 
John Huss. A hundred years before Luther stirred the 
heart of Germany, a voice like that of John the Baptist 
— the voice of one crying in the w^ilderness — was heard 
on the banks of the Moldau, preaching repentance for 

203 



204 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

the remission of sins. Before the monk of Wittenberg 
gave to the millions who speak the German tongue, his 
translation of the Bible, the Bohemians had seven trans- 
lations of their own ! Here then, in the far East of 
Europe, the Reformation had its first dawn, and alas ! its 
earliest night. 

The Reformed doctrines, taking root in Bohemia, found 
their stronghold in the University of Prague. This was 
the first institution of the kind established in Germany. 
It was founded five hundred years ago, after the model 
of the University of Paris, and attained a ra^^id growth, 
attracting students not only from the East and North of 
Euro2:>e, but from the farthest "West. Young men came 
here from England to obtain those advantages of learn- 
ing which they could not find in their own country. 
When Oxford was yet an obscure college, Prague was in 
its glory. At one time it is said to have contained 
40,000 students! When it was in its zenith, Huss was 
Rector of the University, and at the head of such an 
army, he wielded immense power. 

But the great Reformer was sometimes a little violent. 
He endeavored to give certain exclusive rights to the 
Bohemians, to the prejudice of other nations. And this 
measure, it is said, caused 25,000 students to secede in a 
smgle week ! This great secession, however, was not a 
total loss to the cause of learning, for as they scattered 
themselves m other countries, they carried with them the 
germ of other institutions, and from the seed thus sown 



HUSS BUENT AT CONSTANCE. 205 

sprang the Universities of Leipsic, Heidelberg, and 
Cracow. 

While Hiiss lived, though the spirit of controversy 
ran high, it did not break out into open war. But his 
life was terminated by treachery. By a promise of a 
safe conduct from the Emperor Sigismund, he was lured 
to the Council of Constance, and there, on that fatal 
summer's day, July 6, 1415, this Bohemian Apostle and 
Reformer w^as burnt at the stake. The news soon flew 
to Prague, and excited the wildest grief and indignation. 
From that moment it was impossible to restrain the rage 
of his followers. They met in frequent conclave, brood- 
ing over the foul act of treachery and murder, and vowing 
vengeance against their persecutors. They mustered 
their strength, and appeared in the streets in armed array. 
They had a leader, who made them doubly formidable, 
in their blind Samson, Ziska. And as they assembled in 
the square in front of the Town Hall, their ranks glitter- 
ing with pikes, they presented a fierce and threatening 
aspect. In truth they had been goaded into a savage 
temper, which waited only an opportunity to break out 
into acts of violence. The occasion was not long want- 
ing. In 1419, they were marching through the city, and 
passed under the Avindows of the Town Hall, when some 
rash hand threw a stone at them. This was the spark 
that produced the explosion. Enraged at the insult, they 
burst into the council chamber, and seizing thirteen Ger- 
man councillors, they hurled them out of the window. 



20G - SUMMER PICTUEES. 

They fell upon the pikes of the crowd beneath, and were 
instantly put to death. Thus the murder of Huss was 
answered by blood for blood, and this sudden massacre 
was but the prelude to a more terrible retribution. 

The next year the war broke out in earnest. The 
storm-bell on the Tot\ti Hall tolled its alarm, and the 
Hussites, gathering by thousands, filled the square with 
a black, surging, excited multitude. The time had come 
for action. Involved in rebellion, the whole force of the 
empire would soon be upon them. But it would not do 
to await the attack in the city. Half a mile outside the 
walls rises a hill which overlooks the town. Here was 
the jDOsition for defence. To this eminence Ziska led out 
his j^ikemen, and here he Avas followed by crowds, not 
only of men, but of women and children, who all worked 
together upon the intrenchments. Soon the Hussite 
chief had a fortified camp, and an organized army, with 
which he bade defiance to the emperor, who came 
against him with one hundred and fifty thousand men ; 
and at length, descending from his heights, he defeated 
him in a pitched battle. 

How freshly did these memories of Prague revive, as 
I stood at the window of the palace of the Hradschin, 
and looked across the valley of the Moldau to the hill 
which still bears the name of the blind hero — the Ziska- 
berg ! Though the cause which he fought for was at 
last borne down in the tide of war, still they keej^ his 
memory here, as one of the giants of their race. In the 



HISTOEY OP THE REFORMATION IN BOHEMIA. 207 

museum they keep with religious care a letter traced by 
that iron hand — which is the most precious relic they 
have, next to an autograph of Huss himself — and an old 
portrait preserves the stern features which glowed so 
fiercely in the front of battle. 

After we had explored Prague pretty thoroughly, 
and had enough of churches and palaces, I asked our 
guide to take me to the place where John Huss lived. 
The house is no longer standing, but tradition preserves 
the spot in the Bethlehem Platz — a humble place which 
no pilgrims seek except those from foreign countries, yet 
which was more sacred to me than the silver shrine of 
John of Nepomuk. 

Since coming to Prague, I have felt more than ever 
the want of a good history of the Bohemian Reforma- 
tion. I have inquired for such a work, but cannot find 
that there is one in existence, at least in the English 
language. Nor do I learn of any in French or German, 
that is quite what is wanted. Yet, after all, if one were 
produced, I am half in doubt if there is sufficient histo- 
rical interest, at least in our countty, to sustain its pub- 
lication. A friend in America, who is a thorough scholar 
and an unwearied student of history, spent five years in 
going over this very period, and prepared a work which 
would have done honor to him and to our country, but 
when he applied to a publisher, he was told that it was 
too long (it made two duodecimo volumes), and that if 
he would cut out half of it, it perhaps might do ! A 



208 SUMMER PICTURES. 

glorious reward and encouragement to historical investi* 
gation ! And yet it would be difficult to find a period 
of history of deeper interest, more crowded with great 
characters and stirring events. 

The struggle of the Reformed faith with the old 
Church m Bohemia lasted for two stormy centuries. A 
hundred years after Luther, the battle was not yet 
ended. Then begins another great drama, with all Eu- 
rope for its stage, and many nations for actors — ;the 
Thirty Years' War — a period full of exciting events, of 
battles and sieges ; in which at times the whole sky of 
Germany seems to redden with the blaze of desolated 
fields and burnmg cities. The interest of this period 
gathers chiefly around the two great characters of the 
age — Gustavus Adolphus, the Christian hero of the 
north, and the haughty and implacable Wallenstem, 
whom Schiller has chosen as a subject most fit both for 
history and for tragedy, and whose stern figure he has 
made to stand out conspicuous on the dark background 
of that bloody time. Wallenstein lived in Prague, and 
his palace is one of the sights shown to all travellers. 
That sombre figure seemed to rise again as we trod 
those halls where he held his court with more than impe- 
rial splendor, and thought of his greatness and his fall, 
of his deep-laid conspiracies, masked by outward calm- 
ness, of his high-soaring ambition, and of his bloody 
end. 

But the fate of Protestantism was decided long before 



PROTESTANTISM EXTERMINATED. 209 

the death of Wallenstein. In fact, its downfall dates 
almost from the beginning of the war. That broke out in 
1618. Two years after, the hostile armies were brought 
face to face three miles from the Avails of Prague. 
That day was fought the battle of the White Hill, 
and when the sun went doAvn, Protestantism in Bohemia 
was overthrown. The Elector Frederick, who had been 
chosen king, was driven from his throne, and the ancient 
kingdom of Bohemia passed forever under the dominion 
of the emperors of Austria. That fatal victory was fol- 
lowed by terrible scenes. A year after, when confidence 
was in some degree restored, and many had returned to 
their homes, suddenly the Protestant leaders were seized 
and brought before a military tribunal. Twenty-seven 
of the noblest and best, eight great officers and nobles, 
fourteen councillors, and a host of inferior persons, were 
brought to the scaflold. The heads and hands of those 
of noble birth were cut off and stuck up on the gate 
tower of the bridge. Thus the Reformation m Bohemia 
was drowned in blood. 

But there was yet a vial of judgments to be poured 
out upon the kingdom of the oppressor. "In the hand 
of the Lord there is a cup, and the wine is red ; the 
dregs thereof, the Avicked shall wring 'them out and 
drink them." Though Protestantism never recovered 
from this fatal blow, yet the cup which the tyrant gave 
to others to drink, was again and again pressed to his 
OAvn lips. The war was not ended Avith the success of a 



210 SUMMEE PICTURES. 

single battle. For more than a quarter of a century it 
raged in every part of Europe, and desolated Lis o^vn 
dominions. Once Prague was captured by the Elector 
of Saxony. And again, at the very close of the war, in 
1648, it was besieged and bombarded by the Swedes for 
fourteen weeks. 

Nor was it merely Protestant blood which flowed on 
that public square in front of the City Hall. Here Wal- 
lenstein returned like a hunted lion, after the battle of 
Lutzen; in which, though his great rival and enemy, 
Gustavus Adolphus, was stretched upon a bloody bier, 
yet even in dying he had struck terror into the hearts 
of his foes, and the Imperial battalions had shrunk in 
dismay before his last charge. Enraged at his defeat, 
the iron-hearted Wallenstein caused the strictest inquiry 
to be made into the conduct of his officers, and eleven 
of noble birth, besides many of inferior rank, who had 
shown cowardice, were executed without mercy. Does 
it not seem like a retribution of God that this inexorable 
leader at last perished by the hand of the assassin ! 

At present. Protestantism in Bohemia may be almost 
said to be exterminated. In the city of John Huss 
there are now but two Protestant churches, while there 
are 55 Catholic churches and chapels, 11 monasteries, 4 
nunneries, and 10 synagogues! 

Yet behold the compensations of Providence ! God 
holds the scales with an even hand, and the loss or the 
disaster incurred in one part of his great kingdom, is 



THE WHITE HILL AND PLYMOUTH KOCK. 211 

sometimes repaired by a gain at the ends of the earth. 
Do not think me a vain American because my thoughts, 
even at this distance, return so frequently to my own 
country. But there I find compensation for all our 
losses in Europe. The battle of the White Hill was 
fought in 1620 — the very year in which the Pilgrims 
sailed for New England! It was fought on the 8th of 
ISTovember. The Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, Decem- 
ber 2 2d. Thus, at the very time that the pure faith was 
driven from its ancient seats in the Old World, God was 
preparing for it a broader empire on the shores of the 
New. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Vienna — Contrast with Berlin — The Imperial City — Historicai. 
Associations — Tombs op the Emperors — Maria Theresa — The 
Son of Napoleon — The Present Royal Family — The Govern- 
ment — Failure op the Revolution op 1S48 — Result of the 
War in Hungary — Signs op Progress. 

There could not be a greater contrast between two 
cities, than that between the two chief capitals of Ger- 
many. The one is broad and flat and rectangular, with 
streets as interminable and dreary as German meta- 
physics ; the other stands thick with tall houses inter- 
locked like lovers' arms, and narrow streets that go wind- 
ing round and round like a troupe of Viennese waltzers, 
whirling in the mazes of the dance. Beyond the Avails 
of Vienna, instead of the barren plain, which surrounds 
Berlin, the eye rests with delight on a rich valley sloping 
upwards to wooded hills, and in the midst of the land- 
scape, in place of the small and stagnant Spree, trailing 
its slow course through the sand, is seen the dark-rolling 
Danube, pouring its majestic flood of waters to the Black 
Sea. 

The associations, too, are all different. Berlin is raw 

212 



VIENNA CONTEAST WITH BERLIN. 213 

and new, Vienna old and venerable. With a lofty dis- 
dain, the tower of St. Stephen's looks down on the low, 
plastered houses of the Prussian capital. Vienna is the 
Imperial city, the royal house of Austria claiming to be 
the successors of the Roman Emperors, while the Prus- 
sian monarchy itself is but an upstart among the dynas- 
ties of Europe — only possessing a royal title from the 
beginning of the last century, when a vain elector of 
Brandenburg at last obtained what had been the great 
object of his ambition all his life — the empty title of 
a king, and was rewarded for his pains, like other up- 
starts, who step out of their place, by being obliged to 
endure innumerable mortifications, and by being snubbed 
by all his royal brethren. Indeed, it was not until the 
great Frederick became at once the wonder and terror of 
Europe, that the nations acknowledged that there was a 
king in the Prussian Israel, and monarchs grew civil to 
one who asked no consent of theirs to confirm his title to 
a regal crown. 

From that time, Prussia became a great military mon- 
archy, yet Berlin has no stirring memories of battles and 
sieges, which make it historic ground. Several times, 
indeed, it has been in possession of an enemy, in the 
Seven Years' War, and after the battle of Jena, when the 
Imperial guards of Napoleon poured through the broad 
streets of the conquered capital. But no great battle by 
which the fate of nations is decided, has ever been fought 
around its walls. But Vienna for hundreds of years has 



214 SUMMER PICTURES. 

been one of the great military centres of Europe. 
Standing on the confines of the great Moslem power, it 
has been a bulwark of Christendom against the Turk. 
More than once the sentinels keeping watch in the tower 
of St. Stephen's have descried the white tents of the 
Turkish hosts gleaming miles away along the plains of 
the Danube. Here the wave of Moslem fanaticism roll- 
ing upward from the Bosj^horus, was checked by this 
strong barrier. Against these walls the torrent broke, 
and thus was Europe delivered forever from fear of being 
overrun by the Tartar hordes Avho had conquered By- 
zantium. 

From the same watch-tower, Austrian sentinels have 
beheld other invaders. There, but fifty years ago, brave 
but trembling hearts watched with unutterable anguish 
the carnage of Essling, of Aspern, and of Wagram, and 
saw the bombs of Napoleon flying like a shower of stars 
over the Imperial capital. 

Vienna is a city within a city — the inner portion being 
girdled by a circle of bastions which were blown up by 
Napoleon, and have since been laid out in a succession 
of terraces, which are the favorite promenade of the gay 
population. We have our lodgings in the Hotel Munsch, 
which is in the heart of the old town, and close to all 
the most interesting monuments. But a few rods distant 
is the palace of the emperor. From our windows we 
look down upon a plain old church, Avhich would hardly 
arrest the eye were it not that it is the burial-place of 



TOMBS OF THE EMPERORS. 215 

the royal house of Austria. Let us cross the square, and 
enter that crypt, fillecl with the tombs of a long line of 
emperors. It is the Church of the Capuchins, and a 
brother of the Order leads the way with a lighted torch, 
down into that Royal House of Death. In all Europe, 
there is hardly a spot more suggestive of solemn thought, 
unless it be the burial-place of the Popes, under Saint 
Peter's, at Rome. Hush ! let us walk softly from monu- 
ment to monument. We steal along the vault, startled 
at our own muffled footfall in that dim and gloomy place, 
and as the torch of the old monk throws its glare on one 
and another sarcophagus of bronze or silver, he whispers 
the names of monarchs whose deeds have filled the 
world. 

Before one proud mausoleum we pause, for it contains 
the ashes of Maria Theresa, that lion-hearted queen, 
whose title to the throne, secured by the famous Prag- 
matic Sanction, and acknowledged by all Europe, was 
rudely disputed by Frederick the Great, but who in that 
hour of trial showed herself a true daughter of the Caesars 
— the bravest of her race. Who could stand beside 
this silent tomb, without recalling that thrilling moment 
when the young empress-queen fled to Hungary, and 
appeared in the Diet, clad in deep mourning for her 
father, and implored that brave people to support her 
cause ; and when the whole assembly sprang to their 
feet, and grasped their swords, and vowed to stand by 
her with their lives ? " Till then," says Macaulay, *' her 



216 SUMMER PICTtJEES. 

firmness had never once forsaken her before the public 
eye, but at that shout she sank down ujion her throne and 
wept aloud. Still more touching was the sight, when, a 
few days later, she came before the estates of her realm, 
and held up before them the little Archduke in her arms. 
Then it was that the enthusiasm of Hungary broke forth 
in that war-cry which soon resounded throughout Eu- 
rope : ' Let us die for our king, Maria Theresa !' " 

It is much to add, that this heroic queen, was also a 
pure and noble woman — a faithful wife and mother. 
Here on this mausoleum lies, in bronze, another form. It 
is Francis of Lorraine, her beloved husband. He pre- 
ceded her to the grave, and for thirteen long years, on 
every Friday, this pious queen descended into this vault, 
here to weep and pray at his tomb. At last her 
hour came, and they laid her beside the one she so much 
loved. They w^ere faithful to each other in life, and in 
death they were not divided. 

Still look around. There sleeps the Emperor Francis, 
w^ho reigned over Austria in those troubled days w^hen 
the whole of Europe was shaken by the French Revolu- 
tion, and the Imperial armies were so often defeated and 
destroyed. This is the man who stood beside Alexander 
of Russia, upon a hill-top of Moravia, and saw the awful 
carnage of Austerlitz ; and who afterwards gave his own 
daughter to the conqueror that had humbled his proud 
monarchy to the dust. And where is she, the Iphigenia 
sacrificed to propitiate the destroyer? Joined to her 



THE SON OF NAPOLEON. 217 

father in death, hes the body of Maria Louisa, and near 
to that mother's side is a slender cofBn which contains a 
youthful form. This is the son of Napoleon — that son 
who was the hope of his fither, and the object of so many 
ambitious schemes. What stran^-e extremes does it sus;- 
gest ! I thought of the day when an anxious group of 
ministers of state and foreign ambassadors, met at the 
Tuileries, in ex2:)ectation of the birth of an heir to the throne 
of France; when for a time the life of the Empress trem- 
bled in the balance, but at last a child was born, that 
was supposed to be dead, but soon awoke to utter a 
feeble cry — a sound at which the Great [N'apoleon, the 
conqueror of the world, went up and down the apart- 
ment weeping for joy, and saying, " It is a King of Rome !" 
and the cannon of the Invalides thundered forth the tid- 
ings to Paris, that hailed it with acclamations. Tlien I 
thought of another clay, when in the palace at Schon- 
brunn, in the very apartment occupied by his father, that 
mother was kneeling by a bed of death, and that son, the 
object of so much hope, was breathing out his soul to 
God. Does it not seem like a just retribution of Heaven 
on the man who sacrificed one true-hearted wife for a 
royal alliance, that in his last years, when lonely and 
captive, he should be robbed of both wife and child, 
and now that a foreign land should keep their dust? 

The present Imperial Famil}^ is popular, at least here 
in the capital ; and, if one can trust the common reports 
of their private life, deservedly so. I had heard Kossuth 

10 



218 SUMMER PICTUKES. 

speak of Frauds Joseph as a "young Nero," and, of 
course, had formed but a low opmion of one who had so 
early stained his hands with the blood of Italian and 
Hungarian patriots. Nor do I refer now to his political 
course. No doubt he preserves all the traditions of his 
race, the proud house of Hapsburg, and clings to power, 
and would combat revolution as fiercely as any despot. 
But personally, so far as I can learn, though of a temper 
somewhat quick and violent, his character is worthy of 
respect. He is married to a princess of Bavaria, and in 
his devotion to his wife is a pattern to his people. It was 
not a cold-blooded state alliance, but a pure love match ; 
and the royal couple seem to be as fond of each other as 
any less exalted lovers. They are both domestic in their 
tastes, and prefer each other's society to all the gaieties 
of the court. Though compelled to assume some degree 
of state, yet, for royal personages, nothing could be more 
unostentatious than their style of life. In visiting the 
palace, we were surprised at the simplicity of the Im- 
perial apartments, in such marked contrast to the mag- 
nificence of Yersailles, or even to the show which sur- 
rounds the parvenu monarchy of Prussia. The court is 
now spending the summer at Laxenburg, a few miles 
from Vienna. It is a pretty comitry place, with pleasant 
walks, and trees, and fountains, but not to be compared 
to the princely seats of many English noblemen. So, in 
their way of living they are very simple. Though com- 
pelled by their position to take the lead of the court, to 



THE PRESENT IMPERIAL FAMILY. 219 

receive the foreign ambassadors and ministers of the 
government, and distinguished foreigners, yet, strange 
as it may seem, the Emperor and Empress are not fond 
of society, but prefer a quiet, domestic life. No one can 
hear the stories which are told of their family circle, with- 
out feeling a deep interest in this young couple, so ex- 
alted in their station, yet so simple in their tastes and so 
happy in their love. 

The first fruit of this marriage died. When visiting 
the burial-place of the Emperors, under the Church of 
the Capuchins, we observed among the stately tombs a 
little coffin, wreathed with flowers, which incloses the last 
scion of the House of Austria, and the monk told us that 
the Empress comes often to look upon the resting-place 
of her first-born child. When we were at Laxenburg, the 
court were in hourly expectation of the birth of another 
royal child, and preparations were made for an illumina- 
tion ; and though nothing could well be more indifierent 
to us, yet after hearing so much of this youthful queen, 
we could not but feel a wish that the yearnings of her 
mother's heart might be gratified, and while we cared 
nothing for its political consequences, it was with a degree 
of pleasure that, a week later, we heard the cannon at 
Venice announce the birth of a little prince and heir to 
the Imperial throne. 

This simplicity of manners is a feature of the Austrian 
court, and does much to soften the rigor of the Imperial 
rule. Though the government is an absolute monarchy, 



220 SUMMER PICTURES. 

the distance between the sovereign and the subject is not 
so great as in England. The Kaiser mingles more freely 
and familiarly with his joeople. The old Archduke John, 
the uncle of the Emj^eror, walks about the Prater, talk- 
ing to the people, and patting children on their heads. 
This familiarity does not diminish respect, but awakens 
attachment. All love the simple, good old man. Royal 
condescension gives to the sovereign of the country 
something of a paternal character in the eyes of his peo- 
ple, and leads them to look up to him with an awe 
mingled with affection. 

But you will probably be less curious about these do- 
mestic details than about the general political state of the 
counjtry. Are there any signs of j)rogress in the proud 
Austrian empire ? I think there has been some advance 
toward better institutions, yet progress in that direction 
is slow, and far behind what was anticipated in the jubilee 
of 1848. As I go from one European capital to another, 
everywhere I am met with the same evidence of the 
total failure of that year of revolutions, and I am forced 
to ascribe it, not alone to the perfidy of courts, but chiefly 
to the utter incapacity of those who were suddenly in- 
trusted with power. Ten years ago, the Revolution was 
absolute master of Vienna. The government was pros- 
trate ; the Emperor had fled. In that hour of triumph, 
had the people been wise and moderate in their demands, 
they might have gained everything. But they were 
intoxicated with sudden power. The students of the 



FAILURE OF THE REVOLUTION. 221 

University and the workmen of the capital assumed the 
mastery of affairs, not only without being called to that 
high post by the voice of the nation, but to the offence 
of the provinces, and the disgust of the better class of 
citizens of the capital. Hurried from one rash act to 
another, they murdered the Minister of War, and in- 
augurated a reign of terror in the streets ; and finally 
brought around the walls of Vienna an army of a hun- 
dred thousand men, and subjected their capital to the 
horrors of a siege and bombardment. So fell the hope 
of a constitutional monarchy in Austria — not mourned 
and lamented, but loathed and execrated, by those who 
had come to regard liberty as synonymous with anarchy, 
and who welcomed anything which could restore order. 
To this day, the burghers of Vienna recall with fear 
those scenes of blood, and shudder at the very thought 
of revolution. So fell the hopes of a nation— by popular 
ignorance, and violence, and incapacity. God grant that 
this bitter lesson may not be forgotten when next the 
people have to combat for liberty ! 

The revolution in Hungary I regard with a different 
feeling, for that fell not by internal weakness, but by 
foreign arms. That heroic struggle will always command 
the respect of the world, for the splendid manifestations 
which it gave of the valor of the people, and of the great 
civil and military talents of thek leaders. Yet even here, 
I have a half conviction that the chief ends sought by 
war mio;ht have been obtained, if the Hungarians had 



222 SUMMER PICTURES. 

trusted more to wisdom in council than to valor in the 
field. I question much whether they would not have 
done better to content themselves with such reforms as 
they might have wrung from the terror-stricken court of 
Vienna, than to declare at once for independence, and 
thus plunge the empire into a bloody civil war. Kossuth 
says there was a time when " he held the fate of the 
house of Hapsburg in the hollow of his hand ;" and his 
language is hardly too strong. At that moment he 
might have obtained for his country — a separate ad- 
ministration, separate ministers, a legislature of their 
own elected by the j^eople, and even a separate army 
— in a word, everything except 'total independence. 
Only a single tie would have remained between the two 
kingdoms, in the union of the two crowns. The Emperor 
of Austria would still be the King of Hungary. But his 
relation could not be much different from that of the old 
German Emperors to the separate kingdoms united in 
one great confederation. Hungary would have been as 
much a power as Saxony or Bavaria. All this was thrown 
away to pursue the j^hantom of mdependence. Probably 
Kossuth would say that he could put no faith in the 
23romises of the treacherous House of Hapsburg. Per- 
haps the Hungarians might have found themselves be- 
trayed. Though if once they could have organized a 
separate government peacefully, and consolidated their 
n<' ional institutions, it is difficult to believe that they 
c lid have been reconquered. 



SIGNS OF PKOGKESS. ^23 

But vain now are these speculations and regrets. Use- 
less is the wisdom that comes after the event. God alone 
sees the end from the beginning. The patriots of Hun- 
gary, doubtless, acted as they thought for the good of 
their country, and now we can but look back with ad- 
miration at their heroic struggle, and with pity for its 
end. 

Incidentally, the revolutions of 1848 have been a bene- 
fit to the empire. They have broken the sleep of ages, 
and forced upon this most conservative of governments 
the necessity of some reform. There is now a relaxation 
of the old rigor of despotism ; some changes have been 
introduced for the better, and more will follow. So far 
as we can judge from the external look of things, we 
have been pleasantly disappointed. Austria we exj^ected 
to find the worst-governed state on the continent. We 
had been warned that w^e should be annoyed by the 
regulations of the police, and by a perpetual esijionage 
kept on the movements of travellers. But we have seen 
nothing of the kind. The custom-house officers have 
proved much more civil than their fellows in most coun- 
tries. Our passport has not been called for since we 
entered the Austrian dominions, except at the frontier, 
and we are told that it will not need another visa till we 
are prepared to leave Milan to enter Sardinia. A gen- 
tleman with whomw^e have become very well acquainted 
here, and who has lived in Vienna for eight years, laughs 
at our apprehensions that every public place is mfested 



224 SUMMER PICTURES. 

with spies. He tells us also that Austria is the only 
government in Europe where the people themselves can 
travel without any passports at all ! 

All this is very well. And I can readily believe, what 
he assures us is the case, that the government is maldng 
honest and earnest efforts to better the condition of the 
people. In this respect he admits that the revolutions 
of 184:8 have been of great service ; that they have given 
the old Austrian conservatism a terrible shaking, and 
forced the government, in spite of itself, to enter upon 
the road of progress. Every effort is now made to con- 
ciliate its diverse populations. But I fear the evil i& 
beyond all cure. There is an. inherent weakness in the 
Austrian empire. It is composed of different races that 
cannot coalesce into one nation. At Prague we were 
told that great jealousy existed between the Germans 
and the Bohemians. The government tries to mamtain 
itself by playing off the jealousies of one people against 
another. Thus we found in the streets of Prague a regi- 
ment of Hungarians, while the cities of Hungary are 
occupied by Croats or Tyrolese. 

We are glad to hear all that is good, and to believe as 
much as is possible of the improved state of things in 
Austria. Yet we cannot shut our eyes to certain obvi- 
ous facts. An immense standing army holds the sword 
over the country. In every city we find palaces and 
barracks guarded by troops, Tvdth cannon pointed at the 
open squares, as if to sweep down any advance of the 



HOPE OF THE FtJTUEE. 225 

people. This looks like a military occupation of the 
country. It is a standing menace to liberty. 

Nor can we forget other parts of the empire, which 
may suifer more and enjoy less from Imperial rule than 
the favored capital. Vienna is, next to Paris, the gayest 
city on the Continent. But while the people around us 
laugh and dance, we cannot but think of Hungary and 
of Italy, and of the martyrs of liberty whom this paternal 
government has sent to prison or the scaffold. As we 
came from Prague, we passed by Brunn, and saw on 
a hill at our right the Castle of Spielberg, where Silvio 
Pellico was confined. Soon after, we caught a view of 
the Carpathians. We had just passed within a few miles 
of the field of Austerlitz, and were approaching the field 
of Wagram, when, as if nature were in unison with the 
scene, a thunder-storm passed over the heavens. It swept 
by, and the setting sun broke out from the clouds and 
lighted up the mountains of Hungary. "We hailed it as 
an omen of a bright future for that unhappy country. 
May it prove indeed an emblem of its coming freedom 
and glory ! 



10* 



CHAPTER XYII. 

Fkom the Baltic to the Adriatic — The Semmering Pass over the 
Julian Alps — The Grotto of Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
FROM the Sea — Canals and Gondolas — The Square of St, Mark 
— ^Palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of Sighs — Visit to the 
Islands in the Harbor — Moonlight and Music. 

Venice, August 23, 1858. 

The whole mode of travelling on the Continent of 
Europe has been changed within the last few years, by 
the introduction of railroads, so that distances which 
once seemed almost immeasurable, are now accomplished 
with the greatest rapidity and ease. It is hardly three 
weeks since I wrote you from Copenhagen, and now I 
am writing from Venice. We were then listening to a 
wild storm which was raging on the Baltic, and shudder- 
ing at the thought of crossing it the next day ; the w^ind 
shook our windows, and the rain fell in torrents in the 
streets. We are now melting under an Italian sun ; our 
windows look down upon the Grand Canal, and the 
bridge of the Rialto ; and the gondolier glides along the 
watery streets. In that time we have passed over a 
continent ; we have traversed three kingdoms, Prussia, 
Saxony, and Austria ; and have crossed two seas, the 

226 



THE SEMMEEING PASS OVER THE ALPS. 227 

Baltic and the Adriatic. And yet we have not rushed 
ahead in the American style, seeing nothing, but eager 
only to reach the journey's end. Had it been our object 
to accomplish the distance in the least possible time, we 
might have made it, not in three weeks, but in three 
days — thus, one day from Copenhagen to Berlin, another 
to Vienna, and a third to Venice. But we have saun- 
tered along m the most leisurely way — spending four 
days in Berlin, one in Leipsic, three in Dresden, one in 
Prague, five in Vienna, one in Gratz, and one in Trieste. 
In coming from Vienna to the Adriatic, we crossed 
the range of the Julian Alps, by the Semmering Pass, 
and this afforded us the grandest mountain scenery that 
we have yet gazed upon. Of all the heights scaled by 
fire-drawn cars, this is the loftiest and the dizziest which 
I have seen, either in Europe or America. What would 
Hannibal, what would Napoleon say, to a railroad over 
the Alps ? It was one of the greatest achievements of 
the Emperor to have built a macadamized highway over 
the Simplon. But a modern engineer has shown that the 
same dizzy heights are not inaccessible by the iron road, 
and the steam car goes flying along the edge of preci- 
pices, over yawning abysses, through tunnels bored 
under mountains, at a height of three thousand feet 
above the level of the sea. This is the highest railway 
in the world. The grandeur of the ride surpasses all 
description. When once the road becomes involved in 
the moxmtains, it turns and twists in all directions, as if 



228 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

seeking some means of escape ; noAV creeping along the 
bed of a mountain torrent, now winding far around the 
sides of a mountain to seek a higher level, then leaping 
over frightful chasms, and rushing on to the summit 
where the clouds sit — to the very home of the thunder. 
In these perpetual windings, a new landscape is presented 
at every moment. A thousand scenes pass before the 
eye, at once impossible to describe or to forget. It should 
be added, that the road itself is built in a manner to last 
for ages. It is the proudest monument which a powerful 
government could erect. ISTo doubt it was built with a 
military as well as commercial object. It not only con- 
nects Vienna with Trieste, the only port in the empire, 
but is a grand highway by which the Austrian troops can 
be poured into Italy. Yet so was the Simplon con- 
structed by Napoleon for a military purpose. Yet that 
does not prevent posterity from admiring the work or 
receiving the benefit. 

The distance from Vienna to Trieste is three hundred 
and fifty miles. The journey may be made in seventeen 
hours — leaving Vienna at six in the morning, and arriving 
at Trieste at eleven at night ; and by taking the steamer 
which leaves at midnight, one is in Venice the next 
morning. But this makes the journey a very fatiguing 
business. "We chose a slower, but more pleasant mode 
of travel. We left Vienna on Saturday, and came that 
afternoon as far as Gratz, the capital of Styria, where we 
passed the Sabbath, a quiet day of rest, ever welcome to 



THE GROTTO OF ADELSBEKG. 229 

the weary and jaded traveller. On Monday we came on 
to Trieste. 

By thus travelling slowly, we found time to explore 
another wonder of this Alpine region, which travellers 
rarely stop to see, but which, as a natural curiosity, is 
certainly one of the most remarkable which Europe con- 
tains. This is the Grotto of Adelsberg, fifty miles from 
Trieste. It is, beyond comparison, the grandest cavern 
in Europe. I have not yet seen the Mammoth Cave of 
Kentucky, and cannot compare the two. Perhaps the 
New World exceeds the Old in subterranean wonders as 
much as in its rivers, lakes, and cataracts. But hitherto 
my eyes have beheld no such scene. It is a temple, not 
made with hands, but formed by the Creator himself in 
the eternal rock, in the very heart of the mountain. 
Three guides accompanied us ; and by the aid of many 
hundreds of lighted candles, displayed the arches and 
spires and domes of this wondrous temple of nature. 
Millions of stalactites hung from the vaulted roof. We 
penetrated for about two miles, but the guides had been 
as far again, and beyond where mortal foot has trod, the 
cavern may stretch unknown leagues into the heart of 
the earth. In all this region of darkness and silence was 
no sight or sound of living thing. Often we stopped to 
listen — but naught, save the dropping of water, broke 
the awful stillness of the place. The impression of such 
deep silence, of a solitude so jorofound, was almost pain- 
ful, and it was with a feeling of relief that we at last 



230 SUM]S[ER PICTURES. 

emerged from these subterranean regions to the light of 
day. 

We had planned our summer's tour so as to end with 
a fortnight in the north of Italy. Other parts of Italy 
we had seen before. Rome, Florence, and Naples were 
familiar ground. But one city, full of historical and 
poetical associations, was yet to be seen. Ten years ago, 
w^hen I passed through Bologna and Milan, war was 
raging in Lombardy between Charles Albert and the 
Austrians, and Venice was difficult of approach. It had, 
therefore, remained unvisited. This had been a lasting 
regret. So we resolved to see it this time, though we 
should have to travel hundreds of miles to reach it, and 
we reserved it to the last, as the culminating point of our 
journey. 

We thought it an advantage to enter it from the sea. 
Travellers who come from the west commonly take the 
railway from Milan, and cross the Lagune on a long 
bridge of arches. But it seems very prosaic to enter 
Venice by a railroad ! Our approach was more befitting 
the Queen of the Adriatic, as it was across the waters of 
the Adriatic itself. The hour also added to the effect 
u^^on the imagination. It was 7nid7iight when we em- 
barked on board the steamer at Trieste. The city lay- 
sleeping in the shadow of the mountains which surround 
it. The clock struck twelve, as we glided out of the 
port, past the guns of the Austrian frigate which keeps 
watch and ward over the city. The sea was calm as an 



APPEOACH TO VENICE. 231 

inland lake ; the sky was brilliant with stars. As the boat 
was crowded, we w^ere glad to escape the confined air of 
the cabin, and to seek the purer atmosphere above. It 
had been a fiery summer's day, and we felt refreshed by 
drinking from " the cool cisterns of the midnight air." 
So heavenly was the scene m the sky and the waters, 
that we actually remained on deck all night long. We 
watched the constellations come and go. At length we 
saw the sun rise out of the waves, and there before us 
w^as a city in the sea — there were the towers, and domes, 
and minarets of Venice. 

We entered the Lagune and sailed up the Grand Canal, 
and anchored off the Square of St. Mark. We needed no 
guide to tell us the spot. There was the lion of St. Mark 
— there was the Palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of 
Sighs, leading into the frowTiing prison behind. The 
lines of Byron at once came into mind : 

" I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
A palace and a prison on each hand." 

The steamer was soon surrounded by a fleet of gon- 
dolas. These famous boats are not very invitmg in their 
appearance. They are long and slender, and are always 
painted black, and covered with a kind of funeral pall, so 
that they look like floating hearses, bearing all the beauty 
and glory of Yenice to the grave. Into one of these novel 
boats we were dropped with our baggage, and floated 
away to another quarter of the city, near the bridge of 



232 SUMMER PICTUBES. 

the Rialto. Our hotel was an old palace, whose halls 
still retained traces of princely sj^lendor. We asked for 
a room overlooking the Grand Canal, and thus Ave are 
able from our windows to watch the light barks which 
are always gliding to and fro, softly as the shadows of 
clouds flitting over a motionless and moonlit sea. 

We have now been here nearly a week, and all this 
time we have been walking in a dream, or rather floating 
in one, for no man in Venice puts his feet to the ground. 
We live and move upon the water. Every morning, as 
we come do\\Ti to the steps of our hotel, we find a dozen 
gondolas waiting. We step lightly into one and glide 
away. These boats, which look so dark and solemn, yet 
for a pleasant sail are the most delightful in the world. 
We rechne upon a cushioned seat, with a canopy over us 
if the day be warm, or removed if it be shaded and cool. 
The gondolier stands behind us, and guides his bark with 
a single oar, and yet with marvellous swiftness and skill. 
We commonly take a gondola for the day, making all 
our excursions in it, to see galleries, and palaces, and 
churches, and even to the islands in the harbor. When 
tired of seeing sights, we let the gondolier guide us as he 
may. We tell him only to keep the boat in motion, and 
let it float at its own sweet will. So he takes us round 
and round the watery streets, under the arches of a hun- 
dred bridges, and by the steps of old palaces. 

To see in order the moniunents of this city, one must 
begin, of course, with the Square of St. Mark, the centre 



PALACE OF THE DOGES. 233 

and heart of Venice, Here in one group are the princi- 
pal objects of interest. Let us first ascend the Campanile, 
to a height of three hundred feet, from which we can take 
a survey of the whole of Venice, including the windings 
of the Grand Canal, the broader Lagune, and the islands 
in the harbor. But a few steps from the CamjDanile is 
the Duomo, or Church of St. Mark — a structure of very 
ancient date, and of most curious architecture. Its domes 
and pointed spires mark a style brought from the gorge- 
ous East. It looks more like a Mohammedan mosque 
than a Christian place of worship. It is not grand and 
imposing, like the Cathedral of Milan. Yet it is rich in 
its marbles and mosaics, and derives a singular interest 
from the many centuries which it has stood, and the 
strange vicissitudes which it has witnessed. Here came 
the Venetian conquerors, bearing the banners of many a 
nation, and chanted TeDeimis in honor of their victories 
by land and sea. Here in this vestibule a fugitive Pope, 
driven from Rome, at last put his foot upon the neck of 
his enemy and persecutor, Frederick Barbarossa, saying 
in bitter and scornful triumph, " Thou shalt tread uj^on 
the Hon and adder." The very pavement over which we 
walk bears marks of time. It is sunken and uneven, like 
the pavement of a street, having been worn away by the 
footsteps of many generations. 

From the Cathedral a side- door opens into the court 
of the Palace of the Doges. For its historical associa- 
tions, there is scarcely a more marked or memorable spot 



234 SUMMER PICTURES. 

in Europe. This was the centre of Venetian power in 
those glorious days, 

"When many a subject land 
Looked to the winged hon's marble piles, 
Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles." 

We ascend the Staircase of the Giants, and enter the 
majestic halls. This lofty apartment was the place of 
meeting of the Senate ; and near by, in a chamber, smaller 
and darker, as became the mysterious tribunal, sat the 
terrible Council of Ten. A fissure in the wall is still 
shown, as the famous Lion's Mouth, which opened to 
receive many a secret accusation, and here, with closed 
doors and veiled faces, the dread conclave sat to judge 
and to condemn. From their sentence there was no 
appeal, and instant execution awaited the doomed victim 
in the dungeons below. 

In the same building is the Grand Hall, where all the 
nobles of Venice met to discuss the affairs of the Repub- 
lic. The Avails are richly covered with paintings of the 
old Venetian masters. Around the ceiling are portraits 
of all the Doges. One panel alone is vacant, the face 
being covered with black, to mark the terrible fate of its 
possessor, Marino Faliero. We were next shown the 
private apartments of the Doge — which, like the great 
halls of the palace, are in a style of imperial magnificence. 

From these memories of glory and splendor we turned 
to another side of the picture — to the Bridge of Sighs and 



THE BRIDGE OP SIGHS — CHUECHES. 235 

the prison beneath. The old cicerone who led us down 
the steps into the dungeons, lamp in hand, seemed to take 
it to heart that strangers thought it such a dreadful place. 
He showed us that the cells were not below the level of 
the water, and that a feeble ray of light might ghmmer 
in these dark abodes. He assured us the horrors had 
been exaggerated, and seemed to think that one might 
find these quarters quite comfortable ! 

Next in interest to these historical places are the pri- 
vate palaces, which rise by hundreds along the Grand 
Canal, presenting the most imposing evidence of the 
wealth of Venice in the days of her commercial great- 
ness ; and the churches, rich in marble and gold, with 
many costly shrines, and more precious works of art ; 
with monuments of her Doges, and of all her great 
painters and sculptors, from Titian to Canova. I cannot 
pretend to tell how many of these we have visited, or to 
describe the dazzlmg pictures which they presented. 

Thus we spend our days, wandering from one object of 
interest to another. But when the evening draws on, we 
find nothing so beautiful as the waters which flow be- 
tween these palaces. We have chanced to be in Venice 
at the time of the full moon, and the beauty of the days 
has been exceeded by the splendor of the nights. Then 
we take to our gondola, and push off from the shore, that 
we may drink in the full glory of the scene — the pale 
moonlight streaming on tower, and dome, and palace, 
and covering with silver the silent sea.- 



236 SUMMER PICTURES. 

One afternoon, we made an excursion to. the island of 
San Lazzaro, on which is an Armenian convent. A priest 
received us at the gate, and conducted us over the build- 
ing, and explained the design of the Seminary, which is 
to educate Armenian youth. It has now about fifty 
students, chiefly from Constantinople. Here Lord Byron 
came, when he lived in Venice, to study Armenian with 
the monks. The good fathers seem very proud of their 
illustrious pupil, and they show his table, and many 
souvenirs of his residence with them. This visit was one 
of much interest to us ; and long after we had left the 
island, we sat in our gondola, listening to the sound of 
their convent bells. 

From San Lazzaro we were rowed to the Lido, 
another island, w^ch is a favorite resort of the Vene- 
tians. Here Lord Byron was accustomed to take his 
rides along the shore. We went down to the beach, and 
strayed about a long time, gathering shells, and gazing 
off upon the Adriatic, until the approach of evening 
warned us to return to the city. 

" Now, gondolier, for Venice ! But not there," I said, 
pointing to the Square of St. Mark, " but away round, 
round by the Lagune, that we may encompass the whole 
of the city." True to the word, our boatman took his 
oar and steered aAvay, though by the watch it kej^t him 
rowing two hours. But the beauty of that evening sail 
defies all description. A sea of glass, a heaven of blue, 
the setting sun, and the rising moon, furnished the lights 



MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. 23V 

and shadows of the scene, and there, suspended between 
the firmament above and that below, sat two voyagers 
from the West, silent and thoughtful, floating on and on 
into the distance. 

At last Ave entered the Grand Canal, and in due time 
were gliding under the arches of the Rialto, and to the 
steps of our hotel. 

" Are you not exhausted with fatigue ?" we asked our 
brave gondolier. 

" Xon, non, Signore !" 

"Then we will rest a few minutes, and after that go on 
to the Square of St. Mark." We stopped to give him 
breath, and to get our cloaks, and then he took his oar 
again, and soon swept us through the smaller canals, to 
the steps of the garden of the Imperial Palace. We came 
just in time. The whole square was in a blaze of light, 
the Austrian bands were playing, and crowds of people 
were sitting under the arcades, or walking up and down 
the paved court. True, some sad thoughts were stirred 
within me by the presence of these foreign troops. But 
I will not speak of that now. I am giving you the poetry 
of Venice. Hereafter I may speak of its rugged and 
bitter prose. But at present I will not mar with painful 
reflections the transcendent loveliness of this scene. 

It was late before we could tear ourselves away. 
When w^e entered our boat the bands had ceased. But 
hark ! wdiat soimd now^ comes over the water ? A party 
of Italians are singing under the windows of yonder 



238 SUMMER PICTURES. 

palace. We bid the gondolier rest his oar, and he stands 
still, like a statue in the moonlight, fixed and listening. 
Who could resist the spell of such an hour, when the 
earth seemed overflowed with moonlight and music. 

"My soul was an enchanted boat, 
Which like a sleeping s.wan did float 
Fpon the waves of that sweet singing." 

In such " a deep dream of peace " we closed the day. 

But the purest pleasures must come to an end. The 
day of our departure has arrived. I hear the landlord 
calling : " Signore ! the trunks are descended, and the gon- 
dola is waiting at the door." We step on board, and as 
we glide along the Grand Canal to the railway station, 
we breathe a silent, sad farewell to the City in the Sea. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Another View of Venice — The Austrian Rule — Celebration op 
THE Emperor's Birthday — Illumination for the Young Prince 
— Hatred of the People to the Officers — The Bombardment 
AND Political Executions. 

Venice, August 23, 1858. 

A PLEASANT dream has often a sad awaking. The eye 
ojDens from visions of beauty and happiness to stern and 
harsh realities. The last week, we have been enjoying 
Venice as seen by the light of poetry and history. We 
have felt a mournful admiration for a city once so power- 
ful, and still beautiful in its decay. "VVe have admired its 
architecture and its paintings, and looked back with awe 
to its mighty dead, as we lingered in the Palace of the 
Doges, and beneath the winged lion of St. Mark. But 
even amid these reveries a harsh discord has occasionally 
jarred upon the ear, and startled us from our dream. 
Amid all the recollections of former glory, we have been 
forced to look upon some painful sights, which we could 
not regard without deep emotion. I refer, of course, to 
the political subjection of Venice, marked by so many 
signs of humiliation and slavery. Venice is in the dust, 
and the foot of the tyrant is on her neck. 

We have chanced to be here on the occasion of two 

239 



240 SUMMER PICTURES. 

political fetes, which brought out iu strong contrast the 
feehng of the Venetians and of their foreign masters — 
the conscious power and triumph of the one, the sullen 
silence and deep bitterness and hatred of the other. The 
very day that we arrived, we perceived the signs of an un- 
usual stir. The troops were under arms, and were march- 
ing over the bridges and out of the city. Soon after, we 
heard the firing of cannon, which announced some im- 
usual event. It was the birthday of the emperor, and 
his loyal army thus testified their rejoicing. At noon 
we went to the cathedral, and found it crowded with 
Austrian officers, listening to a solemn Te Deum, per- 
formed in honor of the day. The scene was highly 
imposing as they stood along the nave, their ranks glit- 
terino- with gold. But sad memories clouded the scene. 
We could not think, without bitterness, of the old Church 
of St. Mark, where the ancient Venetians rendered 
public thanks to the Almighty for their wide dominion, 
now resounding with anthems in honor of a ruler of 
another race and language. We remembered the despair 
of the last of the Doges who, when forced to do homage 
to the Austrian emperor, fell senseless on the pavement. 
And we thought how often the same bitter feeling must 
have wrung the hearts of the true and brave. At this 
celebration we were struck with the absence of the jDCople. 
The Italians are fond of public fetes, and throng eagerly 
to such displays. Yet, except a few curious idlers, the 
church was filled only with foreigners. 



MILITARY FETES. 241 

We waited till the close of the ceremony, and saw the 
brilliant cortege issue from the church, with Prince 
Lichtenstein at its head. The crowd in the square of 
St. Mark looked on in silence. Not a voice was heard 
from the multitude. In vain the drums beat, and the 
banners waved. Not a shout, not a cheer could be wrung 
from the soul of a crushed and indignant people. The 
conquerors were left to enjoy their triumph alone. 

Yesterday, the city burst out again into a new display, 
more brilliant than before. The emperor had born to 
him a son, who would be the heir to the throne of 
Austria. The city was illuminated. Thousands of lights 
shone in the windows of palaces, and were reflected on 
the waters. Yet, as we sailed along the Grand Canal, 
we marked long ranges of palaces where not a taper 
shone. The bands of all the regiments, numbering 
several hundred performers, were mustered on the square 
,of St. Mark, and tried to charm the sad and silent 
Italians. But all m vain. The square was thronged. 
All Venice was there. But the people kept walking up 
and down the pavement, but said not a word. Not a 
response was given to those wild Tyrolean airs which 
seemed enough to send a thrill through every vein. 

This mutual dislike and hatred are so manifest to every 
observer as to be most painful. Of course it cannot 
break out into open collision. There are no plots nor 
insurrections. But the feeling of the people shows itself 
in a hundred little ways. If the Austrian officers frequent 

11 



242 SUMMER PICTURES. 

a particular cafe, the Venetians keep aloof. A secret 
disdain is marked in their silence and reserve, and in 
their quiet, dignified repulse of all advances. A trifling 
incident will show how this feeUng betrays itself. The 
other evening we were sitting on the Piazza of St. Mark, 
listening to the music. As it was in the open square, the 
crowd was a mixed one. At our side were a couple 
of officers sipping their cofi*ee. In moving his chair, 
one of them overturned the little stand and precipi- 
tated his cup upon the dress of a lady who sat behind 
him. Instantly he sprang to his feet, with a humble 
apology for the unfortunate accident. The lady made 
no reply. She answered not a word. She did not even 
deign him a glance of her eye, nor bend her haughty 
neck. The officer blushed to his eyes. He was embar- 
rassed and confused. But what could he do ? It was 
impossible to pick a quarrel with a lady, or to resent lier 
quiet scorn. There was nothing for him but to bear it 
as he might, and try to hide his mortification and shame. 
Some of my readers may say. It was good enough for 
him, and rejoice to hear of his mortified pride. I should 
feel so, had I not seen lately so much of the Austrian 
officers, and marked how painful is their position, and 
how keenly they feel it. . My observation for the last 
month has led me to form a very high opinion of the 
personnel of the Austrian army. Its order and discipline 
are admirable. In all the Austrian dominions I do not 
remember to have seen a single drunken soldier, nor one 



BOMBARDMENT AND POLITICAL EXECUTIONS. 243 

who was rude in his behavior. The officers whom we 
have met in Prague, Vienna, Trieste, and Venice, have 
been without exception polite and gentlemanly. In Italy- 
it is evident that they feel the awkwardness of their 
position, as being quartered over a subject nation, and 
they seem to try to do everything to conciliate the good 
will of the people. But the wound cannot be healed by 
mere politeness and amiability. The trouble lies deeper. 
It is not in the want of kind dispositions on their part, 
but they are the instruments of an iron political system, 
which they can neither check nor control. It is the old 
plea of political necessity, the love of power and domi- 
nion, which forces Austria to keep her gripe upon Italy, 
and which sooner or later will lead to a deadly conflict. 
Painful as it is to see this mutual hatred of two peoples, 
both brave and worthy of respect, yet it cannot be 
otherwise. How can a native of Venice forget what his 
city has sufiered from Austria? The conflict is too 
recent to be forgotten. It is only nine years since Venice 
was b(mibarded. Often in visiting palaces we see round 
places in the pavement, where the balls fell crashing 
through the marble floor. These things are too fresh 
to be forgott-en. This people cannot blot from their 
memories the horrors of wal-, nor the severities which 
followed. 

In visiting the Champ de Mars — an open square a 
little without the city — our guide informed us that this 
was long a favorite resort of the Venetians, until after it 



244 SUMMER PICTURES. 

was made the scene of political executions. One of tlie 
last victims was a lawyer of Venice, who had been 
discovered in some treasonable correspondence with 
Mazzini. After his condemnation, he was, according to 
an old barbarous rule, exposed for two days in a cell 
which Avas open to the public, where the people could 
crowd to see him, and stare at him behind his grate like 
a lion in a cage. After this diabolical torture, he was 
taken out and executed on the Champ de Mars. Since that 
day the Venetians have shunned the place with horror. 
The time must come when all this long-smothered 
hatred will burst forth. Some will anticipate such a 
struggle, not only without regret, but with eager expecta- 
tion and a fierce joy. I confess I feel far otherwise. For 
the woes of war do not fall on those who have been 
guilty of the great political crime. These officers are 
not to blame for the oppression of Italy. Much less are 
these poor soldiers — ^brave mountaineers from the Tyrol, 
or simple j)easants from Hungary and Bohemia. Yet, 
in the event of another revolution, these soldiers and the 
people of Venice would be found butchering each other. 
Such a struggle I cannot contemplate without a shudder. 
I turn away my eyes from it. And yet looking calmly 
at the present condition of -this unhappy state, I see not 
how it is to be averted, except by the interposition of 
Him with whom all things are possible, and who may 
yet restore Venice and Italy to freedom without this 
terrible baptism of blood. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Yerona — Its Amphitheatre— Congress op Verona — The City 

STRONGLY FORTIFIED — CAMPAIGN OP 1848 — PrOBABLE TaCTICS IN 

Case op another War — Milan and its Cathedral. 

Lake Como, August 26, 1858. 

We entered Venice by water and left it by land. A 
long, loAV bridge of arches spans the broad Lagune, 
over which the train rolls out into the plains of Lom- 
bardy. Seated by the window, we kept looking back at 
the receding domes and towers of the city. At length, 
we touched the solid ground, and sped away over the 
boundless plain. It was early morning. The sun had 
just waked the dew from the grass, and filled the air 
with the perfume of flowers and the song of birds. 
Again the heavens smiled upon us. We looked up into a 
soft, blue sky. On our right were the glorious moun- 
tains, which stand like a mighty wall along the north of 
Italy, to guard the enchanted ground. Thus, with every 
sense intoxicated, we swept on over plains which had 
been trodden by Roman armies, and past cities famed in 
Roman and Venetian story. 

As our time was limited, we could only give a distant 
and regretful look to Padua and Vicenza. But we could 
not thus pass by the Amphitheatre of Verona. Here we 

245 



246 SUMMER PICTURES. 

were set down at eleven o'clock, and at once shouted for 
a carriage to take iis around the town. Of course you 
think you see us straightway riding under the arches of 
the mighty arena, and there musing like two romantic 
travellers. Not a bit of it. The first sight we wished 
to see was a good hotel, for, as we had left Venice early 
in the morning, we were like famished wolves. Hunger 
is a dreadful killer of romance, and just then we 
were in no mood for enjoying either poetry or his- 
tory. " Coachman, qftick ! gallop straight to the inn." 
We were soon there, and a bountiful table restored us to 
a better frame of mind, and prepared us for the proper 
business of a tourist. As dear old Christoj^her North 
used to say, " With a day's work before one, there is 
nothing like the deej), broad basis of breakfast." This 
first duty of man was very heartily and satisfactorily 
performed, and then we felt sufficiently revived for his- 
torical researches and sentimental emotions. Now we 
began, with fond and tender interest, to haunt old 
tombs, and churches, and palaces. Verona has a double 
charm, from its great natural beauty, and its rich histori- 
cal associations. It is very picturesquely situated, being 
surrounded by hills, and in full view of the snowy Alps. 
It is divided into two cities, cleft in twain by the foam- 
ing Adige, which comes down from the mountains and 
rushes through it, swift as the " arrowy Rhone." It is 
an old Roman city, and still retains many traces of the 
imperial people. Several of the streets are spanned by 



AMPHITHEATEE OF VEROXA. 247 

arches of ponderous stone, the work of their giant 
hands. But the greatest monument which they have 
left is the Amphitheatre, which, though not so large, is 
much more perfectly i^reserved than the Coliseum at 
Kome. Here the gladiators fought. We entered the 
dens in which the wild beasts were kept, gloomy vaults 
which once shook with the roar of African lions, and out 
of which tigers bounded into the arena. Here, where 
we stand, was the tribune of the emperor, from which he 
could look down on the horrid sight. Around him were 
thirty thousand spectators; and murmurs of applause, 
and shouts of triumph ran along these stony seats at the 
spectacle of some dying gladiator 

*' Butchered to make a Roman holiday." 

The middle ages, too, have left their traces here. The 
Piazza dei Signori is surrounded with old palaces that 
belonged to ancient families that were once powerful 
in the north of Italy. Here are buried the Scaligers — 
once the princes of Verona. Bold knights were they, 

" Braver ne'er to battle rode." 

But now their glory and their pride are gone. Their 
bones are dust, and all that remams of them is but a 
melancholy tomb ! 

But Verona has more cheerful sights, and more plea- 
sant memories. I have not seen a gayer spectacle than 
the Piazza del Erbe, or flower market, when filled with 



248 SUMMEK PICTURES. 

pretty maids from all the comitiy round, selling fruits 
and flowers, so that the whole square blossoms like a 
huge bouquet of roses. 

In these streets, too, ShaksjDeare has made to walk 
his "Two Gentlemen of Verona." Our coachman, 
faithful to the duty of hunting up every spot named in 
tradition, drove us past the palace of the Capulets — the 
very one in which lived the gentle Juliet ! So he 
assured us. And who would doubt the word of an 
Italian cicerone ? I for one Avould not be guilty of such 
unbelief. So I looked up to the old walls with all due 
reverence, and fancied I almost saw the form of Juliet 
stealing out upon the balcony, in the moonlight, and 
heard her musical voice whispering to her faithful 
Romeo. 

Verona has several quaint old churches, which are 
worthy to be sought out by the curious traveller. The 
most remarkable of these is dedicated to a black man, St. 
Zeno ! His statue still adorns the edifice, and its flat 
nose and thick lips show him to have been a full-blooded 
African. It is a good proof that the primitive church 
paid no respect to race, when the honors of saintship 
were thus conferred on " a gentleman of color." 

These churches are remarkable, also, for a style of 
architecture which is peculiar, and some would think 
grotesque. The walls are built of alternate layers of 
white stone and red brick, which gives them a striped 
appearance. To complete the strange eflect, the columns 



SINGULAR ARCHITECTUEE. 249 

in front rest their solid feet upon the backs of lions ! so 
that it requires but little imagination to animate the 
whole structure ; to imagine it a huge zebra or a 
cameleopard, couchant, but, if startled, ready to spring 
up arid run away. Yet, strange to say, the effect of such 
a building Aere, with all its Italian surroundings, is not 
unpleasing. It is a style which I have met nowhere but 
in Italy, and here in but a few towns. Ten years ago, I 
saw several such churches in Parma. There is one 
example of this in America — the church of Dr. Bellows, 
in New York. But whether such an architecture will 
bear to cross the sea, is a question. There are edifices 
which harmonize only with a peculiar climate and people, 
and with their historical or religious associations. Thus, 
pyramids belong to Egypt, and pagodas to China 
and Japan ; and it would be as difficult to transport 
either to the New World, as to make palm trees 
flourish in the Central Park, as well as in their native 
deserts. 

The political condition of Yerona, as of all Lombardy, 
is sad enough. The city has been honored by the pre- 
sence of many powerful princes, but all together seem to 
have done little for its liberties. Here was held the fa- 
mous Congress of Yerona. We saw the palace in which 
the allied sovereigns assembled in 1822 to carry out the po- 
litical interference in the affairs of other nations, which had 
been adopted as the settled policy of the Holy Alliance. 
The subjects here discussed were principally the affairs 
11* 



250 SUMMER PICTURES. 

of Greece, and Spain, and Portugal. The result of 
these deliberations was the invasion of Spain by a French 
army the following year, to put down the constitution. 

Seldom has there been an assembly on whose fiat 
more depended. Yet this Council of Kings was'com- 
jDosed, in great part, at least, of very common and 
very dull men. The most remarkable personages were 
not the sovereigns, but the ministers who attended them, 
or who rej^resented absent nfonarchs, as the Duke of 
"Wellington appeared for the majesty of England. One 
who was a looker on in Verona at the time, says : 

"Whilst looking at the cluster of crowned heads, it 
was impossible not to remark that the absolute lords of 
so many millions of men had not only nothing to distin- 
guish them from the common race of mankind, but were, 
in appearance, inferior to what might be expected from 
the same number of gentlemen taken at hazard from any 
society in Europe. ISTor was there to be seen a trait 
expressive of any great or attractive quality in all those 
who were to be the sources of so much happiness or 
misery to so large a portion of the civiHzed world. Yet 
some of these were notoriously good men in their private 
capacity, and scarcely one of them has been distinguished 
for vices eminently pernicious to society, or any other 
than the venial failings of humanity ; or, as a writer of 
no democratic tendency says of them, ' all excellent per- 
sons in private life, all scourges of the countries sub- 
mitted to their sway !' 



I HE CONGRESS OF VERONA. 251 

" Of the Sovereigns at Verona, the Emperor Alexan- 
der took the most pains to ingratiate himself with the 
Veronese, by rambling about in pretended incognito, 
and seizing the hands of the ladies whom he happened 
to encounter in the streets, or giving sequins to the 
boys at play. He one day amused himself with carrying 
up the coffee to his brother of Austria, and it was some 
time before Francis discovered that he was waited upon 
by an emperor in disguise. 

" To prepare for the Congress two hundred policemen 
were dispatched from Venice to Verona, and two hun- 
dred from Milan. The number of troops in the city and 
round it amounted to 10,000. The principal employment 
of the police was to watch the proceedings of those to 
whom it was not desirable the Italians should have pro- 
miscuous access. The Emperor Alexander and the 
Duke of Wellington, were the especial objects of their 
care. The latter peculiarly so ; for he had been much 
cheered in St. Mark's Square at Venice, and had become, 
unwittingly no doubt, very popular by appearing in the 
pit at the opera-house there in plain clothes." * 

Verona is strongly fortified, and is one of the central 
positions of the Austrian army. Just outside the walls, 
the sanguinary battle of St. Lucia, was fought with the 
Sardinians, in May, 1848. But those great days of revo- 
lution and of hope are over, and the black eagle now 
floats over fortress and field. 

* Lord Broughton's Italy. 



252 SUMMER PICTURES. 

These political reflections cast a shadow over the whole 
of Lombardy. They rest like a cloud on the brow of 
the Alps, and sink drooping to the plains below\ The 
more beautiful grows the landscape, the darker seems 
the shadow Avhich rests over the land. Soon after -we 
left Verona, w^e came in sight of the Lago di Garda, 
w^hich lies so calmly at the foot of the Alps, seeming to 
rest its head upon their breast, and reflecting in its broad 
mirror, at once, the mountain and the sky. Yet even 
this tranquil scene is darkened by the froA\Tiing fortress 
of Peschiera, where the drum-beat summons to arms, 
not Italians, but the conquerors of Italy. It was sad to 
mark these signs of Austrian power reestablished here 
on these shores, which have witnessed so many of their 
signal defeats, which have echoed the thimder of Rivoli 
and of Castiglione. 

In our railway carriage was a young Italian, whose 
blood boiled at these signs of the oppression of his 
country. He spoke bitterly, as he pomted out the fort- 
ress of Brescia, where the butcher Hsynau perpetrated a 
cowardly massacre of the people, in 1849. The Italians, 
he said, could never be reconciled U the Austrian yoke. 
For the present they w^ere silent, for they had no power 
to help themselves. But the hatr^'d of the people to 
their foreign masters remained the same. "The Aus- 
trians know it well," he said. '' They know that be- 
tween them and us there is eternal war ; and that the 
day that we get the power, they wiU be driven from the 



THE CAMPAIGN OF 1848. 253 

land. It may be long to wait ; but the day will come, 
and then will be witnessed a terrible retribution !" 

We had been riding over the theatre of the campaign 
of 1848, and had talked much of the triumphs and 
reverses of that eventful summer. With sad thoughts 
we recalled those days when the prize of Italian liberty, 
the dream of poets and patriots, was in the hands of the 
victorious people, and was lost through the incapacity 
of their leaders, and their own unhappy divisions. 

Ten years ago it seemed as if the set time of God to 
favor the nations had come. The sj^rmg of that memor- 
able year was hailed as the dawn of universal liberty. 
The revolution in Paris was the morning gun that startled 
Europe, but even that hardly caused such astonishment 
as when an echo came back from Vienna. Then the 
people of Milan rose upon the Austrian troops. They 
fought from house to house, and from street to street, 
and even on the roof of the Cathedral, till the popular 
fury prevailed over a disciplined soldiery, and Radetzky, 
with his whole army, defiled out of the city gates by 
night, and retreated across the plains of Lombardy. 
Then, indeed, it seemed that the great battle was w^on. 
Italy avas fkee, and the joy of the people knew no 
bounds. With exultant hearts they thronged to the 
Cathedral to give solemn thanks to God for their 
victory. 

To swell the general triumph, hardly had Radetzky 
fled from Milan, before Charles Albert crossed the 



254 SUMMER PICTURES. 

frontier with a Sardinian army in hot pursuit. At every 
step numbers were added to the invading host. The 
revolutionary enthusiasm had spread throughout the 
Peninsula. The watch-fires were blazing along the 
Apennines, and Tuscans, and Romans, and Neapolitans 
marched to join the glorious army of liberty. At the 
same time the Italian regiments in the Austrian army 
deserted their flag. Thus weakened in numbers and 
dispirited by defeat, Kadetzky withdrew his shattered 
troops within the walls of Mantua, while the King 
of Sardinia mustered an array of nearly a hundred 
thousand men, in all the confidence of victory. Little 
did he think that, in a few weeks, that magnificent army 
would be scattered like the autumn leaves ! 

At that moment it seemed to human eye as if the 
power of Austria in Italy was broken forever. Indeed, the 
Cabinet of Vienna itself felt that the battle was lost, and 
sought, in terms almost abject and humiliating, to make 
peace with the victorious people. A commissioner from 
the emperor appeared with a formal proposition to 
Charles Albert to give up the whole of Lombardy, il 
she would but assume her portion of the pubhc debt. 
Austria offered to divide the territory of Northern Italy 
by the line of the Adige, surrendering Lombardy to 
Sardinia, while she retained only the Venetian territory. 
The king, who knew the hazards of battle, was strongly 
inclined to accept these terms, but the fiery Italians 
denounced the proposal as a betrayal of Venice. They 



THE CAMPAIGN OF 1848. 255 

would have all of Italy or none. And so, finally, they 
had none. 

All this while the veteran Radetzky kept behind the 
walls of Mantua and Yerona, biding his time. Charles 
Albert, distracted by these negotiations, and not knowing 
very well how to conduct a vigorous campaign, sat 
down before the walls of Mantua. Now a siege of 
Mantua is about as hopeless an imdertaking as would be 
a siege of Gibraltar. It is surrounded by a network 
of streams, and can only be approached over bridges. 
Here the Austrian chief, secure behmd his bastions, 
calmly awaited the arrival of reinforcements. In a few 
weeks the Austrian bugles were heard in the passes of the 
Tyrol, and their long columns came winding do^vn into 
the plains of Italy. The arrival of these fresh battalions 
put the Austrians in condition to take the field, and 
Radetzky, though an old man, well stricken in years, 
did not lose a moment. Issuing from his stronghold, he 
completely outgeneralled Charles Albert, turned his 
flank, and attacked him in the rear. In a fortnight he 
fought half-a-dozen battles, and was victorious in every 
one, driving the Piedmontese army before him from 
Mantua to Milan, and across the frontier into Sardinia. 
Thus in a few short days, the glorious prize of Italian 
liberty was lost, and that beautiful territory again 
consigned to years of foreign dominion. 

These are bitter memories. Never had a peoj)le such 
an opportunity to be free. The juncture was one which 



256 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

might not recur again in a century. Yet all was lost 
through the divisions of the people and the weakness and 
irresolution of their leader. Charles Albert was neither 
a traitor nor a coward. He was personally brave, as he 
showed in every battle, and afterward on the fatal field 
of ^ovara, but he lacked the promptness and energy, 
the quickness of perception and rapidity of execution, 
which are decisive in war. Had he possessed the skill — 
not of Napoleon, but of a good French general, like 
Changarnier or Lamoriciere, probably the Austrians 
would have lost Italy forever. 

Reflecting on these great disasters, and survejdng the 
field of battle, where the fate of Italy has been decided 
once, and may be decided again, it has seemed to me that 
what Italy needs to fight successfully a war of liberty, is 
a great military genius to organize and direct her wild 
enthusiasm and her wasted strength. 

But the blame of that disastrous campaign does not 
belong to Charles Albert alone, but to the people by 
whom he was feebly supported. In the first flush of 
revolution the people fought with astonishing bravery, 
but that first success spoiled them. They felt that the 
battle was gained, and began to dispute about the spoils 
of war before they had made sure of the victory. I was 
in Milan ten years ago, when the revolution was 
triumphant. Not an Austrian was to be seen. The 
shop windows were filled with caricatures of Radetzky. 
But what were the people about ? Oh, they were sitting 



. TACTICS IN CASE OF ANOTHER WAR. 257 

in the cafes, or walking in the public gardens, discussing 
whether they should unite Lombardy to Sardinia, or 
should have a Republic ! " But," I said to the eager 
patriots, " you are not yet sure to have a country to 
dispose of. While you are disputing, the Austrians may 
be upon you." Ha, ha, ha ! They laughed at the very 
idea. Here was the ruin of the Italian cause. They 
were talking when they ought to have been fighting. It 
was time enough to decide upon the form of government 
when the battle of liberty was gained. But the mercu- 
rial Italians gabbled politics till the Austrian cannon 
were thundering at their gates. Heaven grant that they 
may learn wisdom from this bitter experience ! 

The issue of the campaign of 1848 shows that it will 
never be an easy matter to drive the Austrians out of 
Italy. Even if the people were to rise again in every 
city, and were again victorious ; if the Sardinians again 
should march to the Holy War; nay, if the French were 
to cross the Alps and pour down in countless numbers 
on the plains of Lombardy, still victory would be by no 
means certain. At first these combined forces might 
carry all before them. But then it is j^robable the 
Austrians would repeat the tactics of Radetzky in 1848. 
If forced to abandon Milan, they would fall back upon 
Mantua and Verona. And then would come the tug of 
war. If you look on the map, you will see that there 
the Austrians occupy one of the strongest military 
positions in all Europe, restmg on four strong fortresses. 



258 SUMMER PICTURES. 

which are so situated as to support each other. Verona 
and Mantua, with Legnago and Peschiera, stand at the 
angles of a square, or rhomboid. Their ramparts, brist- 
ling with cannon, appear like a vast battalion thrown into 
a hollow square to repel a charge of cavalry. This 
strong position cannot be attacked with much prospect 
of success — or at least of immediate success. It cost 
the great Napoleon nine months to take Mantua, and 
so well did he know its importance, that when once he 
got it, he never gave it up until he lost his throne. 

This almost impregnable military position is in direct 
communication with Austria by the passes of the Tyrol. 
Here, then, an Austrian army would wait in all security, 
as Radetzky waited, endeavoring only to maintam itself 
until it wearied out the enemy, or until some unguarded 
movement enabled it to strike a decisive blow. 

But not only is this a very strong position for defence, 
it is one of great danger to an enemy. An invading 
army, attempting to drive the Austrians out of Lom- 
bardy, must advance into this network of fortresses, 
where any false step exj^oses it to destruction. Napoleon 
once got caught here and extricated himself only by a 
succession of battles and victories. All obstacles were 
overcome by his extraordinary military genius. But 
.Napoleon is dead, and he has left no successor. 

In default of such marvellous skill, there is no resource 
but in an overwhelming strength. The invading army 
must be so superior in numbers that it can afford to 



MILAN. 259 

divide, and leave one great division to beleaguer Mantua 
and Verona, while another, aided by a fleet in the Adriatic, 
marches upon Venice, or even upon Vienna. Otherwise, 
if the forces are but equal, as the advantages of position 
are all on the side of Austria, nothing but the most 
extraordinary military combinations, or some unaccount- 
able fortune of war, can make the balance incline to the 
other side. 

It was night when we reached Milan, and were whirled 
along the Corso to the Hotel de la Ville. I will not 
linger long to describe the Lombard capital. It is a large 
and prosperous city, but as it lies on a plahi, its general 
appearance is in no wise grand or imposing. Of its 
sights, what need that I speak — of the Arch of Napoleon, 
built to commemorate the completion of the Simplon 
road over the Alps — of the Last Supper of Leonardo da 
Vinci — and the ancient church of St. Ambrose, where 
that heroic father debarred the Emperor Theodosius 
from entering the house of God till he had repented of 
his crimes; and where, among other holy relics, they 
keep the brazen serpent Avhich Moses set up in the 
wilderness, and which will open its fiery lips and hiss at 
the judgment day ! 

Tliese are objects of interest, and yet for me Milan 
contains but one great sight, beside which all else sinks 
iato insignificance. It is the Cathedral, 

" The vast and wondrous dome, 
Compared to which Diana's temple was a cell." 



260 SUMMER PICTUEES 

The Basilica of Milan is one of the few great temples 
which it is worth crossing the Atlantic to see. It covers 
nearly three acres in extent, and has been hundreds of 
years in building. Go where you will, within many 
miles, you cannot lose sight of it. Riding around the 
ramparts, from every point this mighty form is seen 
rising up in the heart of the city, almost as abrupt and 
lofty as the castle of Edinburgh. Approach it, and it 
loses none of its majesty. Enter the open door, and you 
are awed at the sight. The long-drawn aisle, the rows 
of massive columns on either hand, the lofty ceiling, the 
whole interior so vast and dim, give an impression of 
majesty such as I have received from no other temple 
reared by human hands, or have found in St. Peter's alone. 
But to get the full impression of this vast j)ile, one 
should see it at night, and by the light of the full moon. 
It is built of white marble, and covered with thousands 
of pointed spires, on which are clustered statues of all 
the saints of Christendom. And at night, when the pale 
moonlight falls quivering on every shaft and pinnacle, the 
whole glorious form seems transfigured. As I walked 
beneath it at such an hour, it seemed a fair vision of 
some brighter world than ours, such a one as John saw, 
when he described the New Jerusalem, let down from 
God out of heaven ! 

But even this temple is invaded by soldiers, and flashes 
with arms and waving banners. Yesterday we were 
present at a brilliant spectacle in the Cathedral, when a 



THE AECHDUKE MAXIMILIAN. 261 

Bacred Te Deum was performed for the birth of a son to 
the Emperor of Austria. Of course the army was out in 
full array. Hundreds of ofiicers stood along the nave in 
scarlet and gold. The Viceroy came in state, and was 
received by the Archbishop. The organ blew its blast, 
and the cannon roared, but from the people not a voice 
was . heard — not a shout, nor a viva ! There was no 
cheering, no enthusiasm. We thought it, on the whole, 
a very spiritless affair, and were quite willing to leave 
Milan without waiting to see the illumination in the 
evening. 

The Austrian government is fully aware of the hatred 
of the people. After having once narrowly escaped the 
loss of Italy, it now endeavors to conciUate its subject 
population. The new Viceroy is the Archduke Maximi- 
lian, a brother to the Emperor, a young man of marked 
ability, and of principles exceedingly liberal for one of a 
royal family. He has entered upon his office with a reso- 
lute determination to introduce many needed reforms, 
and to give to Lornbardy a government of which its 
people cannot complain. 

A.11 this is well meant, and no doubt will make him 
personally popular. But that does not remove the diffi- 
culty. Amiable qualities, and kind disj^ositions, are of 
little aA^ail when thwarted by the stern necessities of an 
inflexible political system. Already the young Viceroy 
finds himself hampered by restrictions at Vienna. 
He finds too, that it is not so easy to make Italians 



262 SUMMER PICTUBES. 

contented with a foreign yoke, and he sometimes feels 
like abandoning the attempt in despair. "Whatever 
I may do for this people," he says, "to the Italians 
I am still a German.'.' Here he touches the vital point. 
The question is not whether Austria governs well or ill, 
but what right she has to govern at all. " Italy for the 
Italians," is the cry of every patriot from Yenice to 
Naples, and this appeal for liberty and independence will 
not be satisfied while Austrians guard the square of St. 
Mark and the citadel of Milan. 

My soul is sick of all this array of force to oppress a 
brave and noble people. We have left the city to seek 
more peaceful thoughts in the presence of Nature. 
Here, on Lake Como, we are on the borders of Switzer- 
land, and we feel a new life as we breathe the free air of 
the hills. Lake Como is surrounded with mountains, 
whose sides are sprinkled over with cottages, while 
many a princely villa dots its rocky shores. This, 
indeed, is a place of rest. Here many have sought a 
retreat from the world, to pass the rest of their days in 
tranquillity and peace. Gliding over its waters, many a 
restless spirit has felt, like Byron, 

" This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To bear me from destruction." 

And here, for a few hours among these hills, we will cease 
to think of all the oppressions that are done under the 
sun, and try to forget the long tale of misery and crime. 



CHAPTER XX. 

Lakes CoMO AND Maggiore — The Battle-Field of Kovara — Abdica- 
tion- OF Charles Albert — His Voluntary Exile and Death — 
Turin — The King and the People — Hatred of the Austrians — 
Part in the Russian War — Crossing Mont Cenis. 

Chambery, Sept. 1, 1858. 

The lakes Como and Maggiore derive their j^eculiar 
charm from the miion of Swiss and Itahan scenery. 
Their heads he bosomed in the snowy Alps, w^hile, as 
they stretch away to the south, Nature seems to relent 
from her sternness, the mountains smk down into hills, 
and thence decline into those soft, sunny slopes w^hich 
mark the land of the olive and the vine. We sailed up 
the whole length of Lake Como, to the very entrance of 
the Sj^lugen pass, and returned down the lake the next 
morning. Thus we saw it twice, at different hours, and 
by different lights, at sunrise and at sunset, and by the 
round, full moon. Perhaps the most impressive moment 
was just " twixt light and dark," when the gathering 
gloom of evening began to lift, as the mountains, like 

clouds, 

" Turned their silver linings to the night." 

We had been sitting for hours upon deck, watching the 

263 



264 SUMMER PICTURES. 

giant forms, as they appeared by the light of the dying 
day. We marked the smiset as it cUmbed their rugged 
sides, and hngered on their cold j^eaks. At length the 
last ray disappeared. " It was gone, and all was grey." 
Then the mountains grew large and black, and the 
shadows fell heavy on the waters. But soon a faint 
silver ray shot upward from behind, and gleamed along 
the tall feathery pines, that fringed the summits. Higher 
and higher rose the queen of night, till she touched the 
mountain's head, and soared into the sky, casting down 
her full-orbed radiance upon the lake below, Avhich quiv- 
ered beneath such a flood of glory, as if she felt a thrill 
of awe within her chilly breast. 

When the sun arose, we were again upon the lake, 
returning to the town of Como, Avhich lies at its foot, 
from which a diligence brought us over the hills to Lake 
Maggiore. It is an upland region, from which we caught 
many a view of the far-off mountains, and the waters 
that lie between. Lake Maggiore, as its name imports, 
is larger than her sister Como, yet not more beautiful, 
except for those two green islets, Isola Madre, and Isola 
Bella, which, with their terraced gardens, form an 
object so striking and picturesque in the midst of the 
waters. 

Lake Maggiore belongs to three countries. Switzer- 
land looks down upon it from her Alpine home. Austria, 
as master of Lombardy, guards it on the east, and Sar- 
dinia on the west. We were glad to get out of that 



THE WAR RENEWED. 265 

wide empire, whose name is synonymous with despotism, 
and to find ourselves once more in a free country. From 
Arona, at the foot of Lake Maggiore, a railway brought 
us on to Novara — the scene of the last battle betw^een 
the Austrians and Sardinians in 1849. As we traversed 
the field, now^ silent and peaceful, we could not but recall 
the scenes of that fatal day, on which the King of Sardi- 
nia lost his throne, and the last hope of Italy perished. 

When, after the disastrous campaign of 1848, Charles 
Albert w^as driven out of Lombardy, he entered into an 
armistice with Marshal Radetzky, which, of course, 
both expected would be the prelude to a definite and 
permanent peace. But when the king got back to Turin, 
he found that he had raised a storm w hich he could not 
quell. Stung by their defeat, and conscious that it was 
not owing to any want of valor on their part, the brave 
Piedmontese burned for another chance to wipe out the 
national disgrace. This ardor was kept up by the 
excitement in other parts of Italy. The whole peninsula 
was still agitated, and young patriots were burning to 
renew the war of liberty. The popular enthusiasm was 
too strong to be resisted. If violently repressed, it 
threatened to break out into Kepublicanism. The Sar- 
dinian parliament came together on the first of February, 
and the king addressed the chambers in a sj)eech full of 
Italian fire, in which he pointed distinctly to the neces- 
sity of again resorting to arms. 

By the terms of the armistice it had bten agreed that 

12 



266 SUMMER PICTUHES. 

if either party should decide to resume hostilities, it 
should give the other eight days' notice. Charles Albert 
determined to open the campaign on the 20th of March, 
and accordingly on the 12th a courier was sent off with all 
speed from Turin to Milan to bear the formal declaration. 
Marshal Radetzky had been expecting this issue, and 
it did not take him by surprise. The old-war horse 
snuffed the battle from afar. Never was tidings more 
eagerly welcomed than this by the garrison of Milan, 
who hailed it as a new call to victory and glory. 
Though Radetzky had grown grey in arms (he was now 
eighty-three years old), and might claim exemption from 
^h.e fatigues of a new campaign, he acted with a promp- 
titude and energy which his enemies might admire, but 
certainly did not imitate. Orders were at once sent off 
to the Austrian detachments to leave small garrisons in 
the towns, and march with their whole force to join him. 
This course, indeed, involved the danger of insurrections 
in his rear. He well knew that if he experienced any 
check, the whole country would break out in another 
revolution. In fact, the people did rise in Brescia, and 
overpowered the garrison, and were for several days 
masters of the place, until Haynau marched upon them 
from Venice, and put down the revolt by a horrid mas- 
sacre. But Radetzky chose to run the risk for the sake 
of the main chance. He knew that if he could defeat 
the Sardinians in one pitched battle, all these isolated 
insurrections could be easily suppressed, and with that 



THE AUSTRIANS INVADE PIEDMONT. 267 

decision, which shows him to have been a thorough mas- 
ter of war, he determined to concentrate his whole force 
and march straight against the enemy. Of the troops 
in Milan, he left but a small garrison in the citadel, and 
marched out with all the rest of his army. Yet he did not 
take the direct road to Turin, but left by the Roman 
gate, which led some who had seen him thus depart a 
year before, to jump to the conclusion that he was going 
to retreat. But they little understood him. He kept 
his counsel, and allowed none to penetrate his designs. 
He marched south, as he had ordered the several divi- 
sions of his army to concentrate at Pavia, a city close to 
the Piedmontese frontier. His orders had been promptly 
obeyed. Exact at the hour, every division entered the 
appointed place of rendezvous. On the night of the 
19th', the whole army was concentrated around Pavia, 
nearly 70,000 men, with over 200 cannon. At twelve 
o'clock the next day the armistice expired, and instantly 
the order was given to march, and before night the 
whole Austrian army Avas on the soil of Sardinia. 

This easy entrance into the enemy's country was a 
great advantage gained. As they had to cross a river, 
their passage might have been disputed, and a division of 
the Piedmontese army had been appointed to hold them 
in check. But it was not at its post. This unaccount- 
able negligence, it was supposed, was owing to treachery, 
and General Ramorino, who commanded this division, 
was afterward tried by a court martial and shot. But 



268 SUMMER PICTURES. 

to leave such a post in treacherous or incapable hands, 
showed the wretched management which seemed to 
preside over this whole campaign. 

While the Austrians were thus moving in admirable 
concert, every battalion in line, in the Sardinian camp 
all was confusion. If the government had shown half 
the energy and wisdom in preparing for war, that it had 
sho^vn of rashness in rushing into it, the result might 
have been different. But its councils seemed infatuated. 
Carried away by a popular tumult, it had declared 
war when totally unprepared. It had, indeed, a 
large army, and braver soldiers never followed their 
chiefs to battle, but all the fruit of courage was lost 
by want of organization. They had not even a leader in 
whom they had confidence. They had applied for the 
services of Marshal Bugeaud, the French general who 
had been so distinguished in Africa, but he would not 
accept, unless he could have supreme and absolute com- 
mand, and this was thought to derogate from the Royal 
dignity ; and finally they took up with a Polish general, 
who had gained some distinction in the Revolution of 
1831, and who undoubtedly possessed considerable 
knowledge of the art of war, but who was wholly 
ignorant of the country in which he was to fight, and 
the materials which he was to command. He could not 
even speak the language, and had to give his orders 
through interpreters. Of a small, ununposing figure, 
' there was nothing about him to inspire confidence in an 



THE BATTLE OF NO VARA. 269 

army to which he was a stranger. The consequence 
was, that, while every Austrian soldier had unbounded 
confidence in his chief, which was itself a pledge of vic- 
tory, the brave Piedmontese marched blindly into battle, 
with nothing to rely upon but their own unfailing 
courage. So unskillful were the combinations, that the 
several divisions were left far apart, unsupported by each 
other, by which they were surprised in detail ; and even 
on the field of Novara, it is said that a large part of the 
troops were not brought into battle at all, but stood, 
waiting for orders, while the rest of the army was being 
destroyed ! I find that the people here do not like to 
speak of these events. They can not recall them without 
shame and bitterness. The only redeeming thing on 
that fatal day was the gallantry of the soldiers, and of 
their unhappy king. To this no one bore higher testi- 
mony than Radetzky himself In his ofiicial report he 
says: "The Piedmontese and Savoyards fought like 
lions ; and the unfortunate Charles Albert threw himself 
into the thickest of the danger upon every possible 
opportunity. His two sons also fought with brilliant 
courage." 

History presents few sadder spectacles than that of 
Charles Albert on this day, when he lost his kmgdom 
and crown. When he saw that the battle was going 
against him, he sought to die upon the field. All day long 
he remained within musket-shot of the most exposed 
position, one which was three times taken and retaken, 



270 SUMMER PICTTJRES. 

and when General Durando took him by the arm, and 
tried to draAv him away, he repHed : " It is useless ; it is 
my last day ; let me die !" But in vain he sought this 
release, though he galloped madly here and there, turn- 
ing wherever the battle raged. In Turin they still keep, 
in the hall of armor, the body of the war-horse which he 
rode, and it was with no common respect that I looked 
upon the faithful steed which bore his master through 
the carnage of that dreadful day. But death, which 
seeks the happy, flies from the unfortunate. Though 
four thousand of his brave soldiers lay dead and dying 
around him, the unhappy king could not die. To his 
sorrow and despair, he left the scene of battle alive, but 
only to experience a slow, lingering death. That night, 
when all was lost, the king sent for his two sons and his 
generals, and when all were gathered around him, he 
arose with mournful dignity, and said, " Gentlemen, 
fortune has betrayed your courage and my hopes ; our 
army is dissolved ; it would be impossible to prolong 
the struggle ; my task is accomplished, and I think I 
shall render an important service by givmg a last proof 
of devotedness in abdicating in favor of my son, Victor 
Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy. He will obtain from Austria 
conditions of peace which she would refuse if treating 
wdth me." At these words all burst into tears. The 
king alone was calm. His son, who found royalty thiTist 
upon him, implored his father to reconsider his decision ; 
but he was inflexible. He embraced his sons, and 



THE KING ABDICATES THE WAR ENDED. 2Vl 

thanked all around him for their devotion and fidelity, 
saying to them, " I am no longer your king. Be faithful 
and devoted to my son as you have been to me." He 
then withdrew to write a letter of farewell to the queen, 
which he charged his son to deliver into her own hand. 
A little after midnight he left the palace, wrapped in a 
cloak, with only a single attendant, and entered a car- 
riage which was in waiting for him, and in a few hours 
this man, so late at the head of an army and a kingdom, 
had bid a final adieu to Italy ! 

The next morning the young king had an interview 
with Marshal Radetzky, and an armistice was agreed 
upon, to be followed by immediate negotiations for a 
permanent peace, the basis of which was a return to the 
state of things before the war, renunciation by Sardinia 
of all pretensions to Lombardy or Venice, and reim- 
bursement to Austria of all the expenses of the war ! 
Such was the issue of this memorable campaign, begun 
and ended in five days ! The armistice was signed 
March 24th, just one year from the time that Charles 
Albert invaded Lombardy. Such, then, was the final 
result of all the dreams and hopes of Italian patriots — 
of the expenditure of so much treasure and so much 
blood ! 

Charles Albert retired to Portugal, where a few 
months after he died of a broken heart. The last scene 
was inexpressibly afiecting. Far from his country and 
his home, with not a member of his family beside him, 



272 SUMMER PICTURES. 

attended only by one or two of his old officers, who were 
faithful to the last, he breathed out his heroic soul to 
God. But when he w^as gone, they brought his body 
back to bury it with solemn pomp. As w^e came on to 
Turin that afternoon, we saw at a distance, on a lofty 
height overlooking the valley, the church of Superga, 
the burial-place of the Sardinian kings, w^here his body 
now rests in peace after his stormy and troubled life. 

History will do justice to this unhappy prince. Since 
the disasters of 1848 and '49, there have not been want- 
ing many to reproach him as having betrayed the cause 
of Italian liberty. But it is well know^n that from early 
years, from the time that he had been a member of the 
society of the Carbonari, the regeneration of Italy had 
been the dream of his life. But it was not till 1848 that 
he saw a hope of its being realized. In endeavoring to 
create the kingdom of Upper Italy, no doubt he was led 
partly by ambition for the aggrandizement of the House 
of Savoy, w^hich he expected to see placed upon the 
throne. Still it is but just to believe that wdth thi§ per- 
sonal ambition there was mingled a patriotic devotion 
to his country. 

His great error was to have attempted a w^ork beyond 
his powers. The crisis was one which called for the 
very highest civil and military talents combined, and 
those extraordinary endowments he did not possess. 
Honest, true and brave, he had not those qualities which 
awe and dazzle, and control an excitable people. Sad 



CHARACTER OF CHARLES ALBERT. 273 

destiny of a king, thus in the very crisis of a nation's 
fate, to be intrusted with power which he knows not 
how to use ; to reach forth to seize the sceptre of Italy, 
and to grasp it with an incapable hand ! Well might 
this sovereign mourn the destiny which placed him in a 
position so exalted and difficult, saying with Hamlet : 

" The time is out of joint ; cursed spite, 
That ever I was born to set it right !" 

But if it were his misfortune not to be endowed with 
those transcendent gifts which are always so rare among 
mankind, let us at least do justice to his pure and patri- 
otic character. Afterward, in his exile, he said with a 
proud confidence in the purity of his motives, "My country 
may have had better princes than I, but none that loved her 
more. To render her free, independent and great, I 
have joyfully made every sacrifice, except those which 
could not be made with honor. When I saw that mo- 
ment arrive, I envied the lot of Perrone and Passalac- 
qua, [generals killed at Novara]. I sought death, but 
I could not find it. Providence has not permitted the 
regeneration of Italy to be accomplished to-day; I hope 
that it is only deferred, and that a passing adversity will 
but warn the Italian people another time to be more 
united, in order to be invincible." * 

Turin is a very regular city, " lying four square," with 

* See the character of Charles Albert, very fully vindicated in 
the Revue des Deux Mondes, June and July, 1854. 

12* 



274 SUMMER PICTURES. 

its streets crossing each other at right angles, and has 
almost as much of a Quaker look as Philadelphia. It 
has not the architectural magnificence of the old cities 
of Italy, of Genoa, and Florence, and Venice, and Rome. 
Still it boasts many imposing edifices. From our win- 
dow in the Hotel de I'Europe, we looked down upon the 
court of the Royal Palace, which is a vast pile, flanked 
by a gallery of paintings and a hall of ancient armor. 

But that which is better than great palaces or 
churches, is the general appearance of prosperity, and 
that erect and manly look which belongs only to a free 
people. It is refreshing to find ourselves once more in 
a free country. Here we begin to breathe again. The 
capital stands in the valley of the Po, and in full view 
of the Alps, and its people seem to drink in freedom 
with the air of the mountains, and from the wild tor- 
rents of their rapid rushing rivers. Here is no jealous 
restriction of the press — no exclusion of foreign journals, 
nor muzzling of those at home. Men read, and write, 
and sj)eak, as they please. There is no restraint upon 
thought, or upon honest, manly tongues. 

Sardinia is the foremost State of Italy, not only in its 
» civil constitution, but in its religious liberty. Though 
nominally and perhaps sincerely Roman Catholic in its 
faith, the government has shown great jealousy of Papal 
dictation, and will not submit to edicts from Rome. 
The relation of the two courts, if not one of open war, 
is at best but an armed neutrality. The king, though 



VICTOR EMMANUEL. 275 

of course he calls himself a Catholic (and is ready, like 
the young candidate at Oxford, to subscribe, not only 
the Thirty-nine Articles, hut forty if they loished)^ does 
not trouble himself much about any religion. His prin- 
cipal articles of faith are, to hate the Austrians, the Je- 
suits, and the Pope ; to love liberty and to dream of 
Italian independence. From all I hear, he is a true lib- 
eral, not merely from policy, but in his heart. He is 
more democratic in his manners than his predecessors, 
and has abolished much of the foolish etiquette of the 
Court." He is a thorough soldier, inheriting the military 
spirit which has always distinguished the House of Sa- 
voy. In the campaign of 1848 he fought gallantly at 
his father's side, and gained great honor at the siege of 
Peschiera, and the battle of Goito. Such is the man 
who is now the hope of Italy. Even in Lombardy, the 
ardent republicans of 1848 admit that the only hope 
of Italian independence is Victor Emmaistjel. It would 
be madness for the patriots to attempt a revolution 
against Austria, unless led on by some well-organized 
power, like that of Sardinia. Though this is not a great 
nation, the lack of a wider dominion is partly compensated 
by the vigor and spirit of the people. Sardinia has a 
population of but four and a half millions, yet she can 
bring into the field an army of a hundred thousand men, 
and as her small and compact territory requires but few 
garrisons, the greater part of this whole force could be 
moved forward to the place of battle. 



276 SUMMER PICTURES. 

The spirit of the king is strongly backed by his Court 
and people. Count Cavour, who is at the head of the 
Cabinet, is a man of remarkable liberality in his political 
opinions. He appreciates clearly the present condition 
of Europe, and the part which his country may be called 
to act, and he has at once the capacity and the courage 
to hold her firmly in her place as the vanguard of the 
free nations of the continent. The people themselves 
feel that they are predestined to drive the Austrians out 
of Italy, and they are imj^atient for the day to come. 

The Piedmontese are fine soldiers. Like the Swiss, 
they are at home among the mountains, where they 
acquire great agility and strength. Their very step is 
light and springing, as if they had learned it in chasing 
the chamois of the rocks. Dr. Schauffler, of Constanti- 
nople, told me that he never saw such fellows as the Sardi- 
nian contingent that came out in the Crimean war. They 
w^ent through the streets with a bound — not with the 
stately tread of the English grenadiers. In this they 
are more like the Zouaves, who go into battle like so 
many wild catamounts. Many of those whom we saw" in 
Turin had served in the Crimea, and wore the Napoleon 
or Victoria medal on their breasts. 

Many times while in Sardinia, I have asked intelligent 
gentlemen, "Why did your country meddle in the 
Russian war ?" They answer, " She w^as invited to take 
part in it by France and England." "Yes, but is the 
fact that she is invited to do a foolish thing a reason 



PAKT IN THE RUSSIAN WAE. 277 

why she should do it ? So was Austria invited to join 
the Allies. So was Prussia. But did either of those 
powers choose to sacrifice its own mterests, best secured 
by peace, for the doubtful glory of war ? This over- 
generous zeal has cost your country three or four thou- 
sand of her brave sons, and fifty millions of francs !" 
However, this alliance may have borne some political 
fruit. It imdoubtedly raised the prestige of the Sar- 
dinian army, which behaved with great gallantry, and 
gave the country a new prommence among the powers 
of Europe. It was in consequence of the part that she 
bore in this war, that Sardinia was admitted to the Con- 
gress of Paris in 1856, and that she has been brought into 
such close alliance with France, a power on which she 
relies to support her in her next war in Italy. That it 
has not broken her relations with Russia, is evident from 
the fact that she has just granted that power the port 
of Villafranca, near Nice, which enables Russia to keep 
a fleet in the Mediterranean. Thus fortifying herself 
with allies, she awaits the next great struggle. These 
soldiers have probably a great destiny before them. 
They bide their time. But when there comes in Europe 
the War for Liberty, their bayonets will gleam in the 
thickest of the battle. 

We stayed three days in Turin, and left early on 
Monday morning to cross the Alps on our way to France. 
A couple of hours brought us to Susa, the present ter- 
minus of the railroad, which cannot be extended farthei 



278 SUMMER PICTURES. 

until the great gallery under Mont Cenis is completed. 
This is one of the most gigantic works yet undertaken 
by the engineering skill of Europe. It is necessary to 
bore right through the heart of the mountain— a distance 
of eight miles ! This will be the longest tunnel in the world. 
But it must be many years before any traveller can 
shorten his journey by passmg through it. What might 
be done in half an hour by railroad, took us a whole day 
by diligence. The pass of Mont Cenis, like that of the 
Simplon, is traversed by a macadamized road. Both 
were built by the same imperial hand, and were designed 
for the same object — to open a free passage for Napo- 
leon's troops from France into Italy. This is one of 
the grandest highways in Europe, built in the face of 
tremendous obstacles, yet smooth as a floor, climbing 
along the mountain's breast, yet keej^ing its even grade 
among rocks and preci|)ices. But with all this smooth- 
ing of difficulties it is a pretty formidable operation to 
scale the Mont Cenis. To our diligence were harnessed 
two horses and ten mules, yet with all this cavalcade it 
took five hours of steady pulling to bring us to the top. 
But for this delay of time we were amply compensated 
by the views of mountain scenery which we enjoyed. 
Resolved to lose nothing, we had climbed by the help 
of a ladder to the top of the diligence, and thus perched 
aloft, we began the ascent. Up, up we went — above 
the villages, above the church spires, above the tops of 
the trees, till we came at last to a region of barren rock, 



CROSSING MONT CENIS. 279 

where not even a stunted pine could live, where only- 
moss and lichens clung quiyering in the wind. As we 
mounted higher and higher, the views down the valley 
behind us became more extended and magnificent. 
They pass all description. They remain unprinted on 
our memory among those eternal things of nature which, 
once seen, can never be forgotten. 

Nor were other associations wanting which harmo- 
nized with these awful forms, and added to their effect 
upon the imagination. As we reached the summit, and 
turned to take a last view of Italy, we thought of the 
armies that had passed over these cold heights. Here 
once stood the elephants of Hannibal, while the haughty 
African cast his eye down the pass that was to lead him 
to the gates of Rome. Here came the soldiers of Napo- 
leon. I could almost see their columns filing along the 
pass, and hear the echoes of then* bugle horns. These 
warriors have passed and left not a trace behind. Yet 
still the mountain solitudes stand silently armed for 
Avar. 

As the pass of Mont Cenis is the gateway of Italy, it 
is strongly fortified by the Sardinian government. We 
found a garrison on the very summit. Thus excited at 
once by nature and history, we came to the mountain's 
verge, where we let go our ten donkeys, and with 
horses at full gallop, we came rushing down into the 
valleys of Savoy. 



280 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

Here at the foot of the Alps, I end my traveller's 
tale. We reached Paris on the second of September, 
and left on the twentieth for America. I add a single 
chapter, not of travel, hut of vindication of the much- 
abused French people. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Domestic Life in France. 

"Dreadful people, these French! They have no 
domestic life. The very word Home is not to be found 
in their language. They live in the street, in the public 
gardens, in the cafes, in the theatres, anywhere but 
under their own roof." Such is the opinion which you 
will hear expressed by nine out of ten of all the Ameri- 
cans who go to Paris. Even those who are old residents 
confess with a sigh that this harsh judgment is but too 
true. To be sure, the fluent censor is a little embar- 
rassed, if you ask abruptly, *' Pray, sir, how many French 
families do you happen to know?" But he quickly 
recovers assurance, and answers glibly, " Know ? why 
have I been so many years in Paris, and do I not know 
j)eople ?" He knows everybody — that is, everybody 
that is to be seen in public. Perhaps he has received 
his education in Paris. He has been a student in the 
Latin quarter. He is an habitue of all the cafes on the 
Boulevards. He frequents all the theatres, and can tell 
(at least through his opera-glass) the box of every dis- 
tinguished family. Nay, more, has he not been ad- 
mitted into society ? Can he not report the talk of 

281 



282 SUMMER PICTUEES. 

French salons? Has he not had the entree at Alexan- 
der Dumas'? Possibly, at Lamartine's andGuizot's? 
Nay, more, swellmg with Republican pride, has he not 
been invited to the balls at the Hotel de Ville, and even 
at the Tuileries ? 

After such a string of triumphant inquiries, a modest 
stranger is pretty well " shut up," and remains silent, as 
his informant follows up the victory ; " ISTo, no. I tell 
you, there is no domestic life in France, A Frenchman 
lives only in public. The fireside, the foyer is hateful to 
him." It hardly occurs to this confident talker that a 
man may visit a country, and even live in it, and yet, 
after all, not know much about it ; that he may see 
thousands in the streets, in the gardens, or the shops, 
in business, or at court, and yet see none in the interior 
of their own dwellings ; that, in fine, it is one thing to 
see people, and another to see and know family life. 

A stranger coming into Paris, sees only the outside of 
the French. The life he sees is the life of hotels. In 
the shops he meets only tradespeople and grisettes. 
At court he meets a class higher in position, but often 
no better in morals. But neither of these classes is the 
best representative of the finer qualities of the French 
character. The class most worthy of respect is the 
upper middle class — the haute bourgeoisie — composed of 
the wealthier merchants and bankers, distinguished 
advocates, learned professors, and literary men. This is 
the class which it is most important to know to judge 



DOMESTIC LIFE IN FEANCE. 283 

the French fairly, and yet into which it is most difficult 
to penetrate. 

To what, then, amounts this boasted knowledge of 
French society ? Travellers see the outside of Paris — the 
tinsel and gilded exterior of the French capital. But of 
its interior life they are almost wholly ignorant. Hence 
the opinions which they give, are about as intelligent as 
those of a Southerner who comes North in the summer 
to spend his money, and goes to Saratoga, and Newport, 
and Niagara. In New York, he stops at the St. Nicholas 
Hotel, or the Metropolitan, and perhaps finds himself 
surroimded by flash men and fast women. He goes 
back, swearing that New York is the most dissolute, 
depraved, corrupt city on earth, when the poor fool has 
not been admitted to the intimacy of a single respect- 
able family. 

The exclusion of such men from society is far more 
rigid in France than in America, for here the interior of 
a family is guarded with more sacred care than with us. 
French parents are quite shocked at the freedom with 
which American papas and mammas allow strangers to 
visit in their families. They are wary of those whom 
they admit to their households. They are suspicious of 
foreigners more than of their own countrymen. And 
with reason. For of the one or two hundred thousand 
strangers always in Paris, a large part have come for 
nothing but to enjoy a life of pleasure. And, I am 
sorry to add, that of all the mauvais sujets who infest 



284 su:mmer pictures. 

the French capital, young Americans are abdnt the 
worst. Hence it is not strange that our countrymen 
find it not so easy to circulate where they will, and even 
old residents complain that it is very hard to get into 
French society ! 

Ten years ago I spent six months in Paris. I saw the 
monuments of the city, I saw also a revolution, and 
many thrilling events. But of the domestic life of the 
French I saw nothing. Nor were others better off. 
At that time I had a friend there, a former member of 
Congress, who had spent a large part of his life abroad, 
who was in Paris when it was occupied by the Allies, 
and remembered distinctly the morning that Marshal 
Ney was shot. We lodged in the same house, and every 
day walked and dined together. This summer, when we 
went to Paris, I turned into the old street to see if, 
perchance, any trace of him lingered about the place. 
Lo, there he was still — in the same hotel, in the same 
room, dining every day at the same restaurant in the 
Palais Royal, and spending the evening at Galignani's. 
Here he has been ofi" and on for forty years, and yet, 
from what I know of his habits, I will venture to say 
that he does not know, with any intimacy, a single 
French family. And yet, if you were to ask him, he 
would deliver a lecture an hour long on the immorality 
of the French capital, and would be astounded if you 
were to intimate that there were portions of French 
society which he had not seen. 



DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 28S 

But the second time that I visited Paris, it was with 
one who had been born in that city, and there passed all 
her early life. To come back to Paris now was like 
coming: home. And so, no sooner were we within the 
walls, than we began to haunt the old familiar streets. 
What endless walks we took along the Boulevards, 
looking up to the fronts of the houses, half expecting to 
see the windows open, and some dear, familiar form step 
out upon the balcony. So strong was the impression of 
these scenes revisited, that it was several days before we 
could muster courage to ask if those we knew were 
living or dead! Many a time we drove to a street of 
which we knew every stone in the pavement, and rang 
with a trembling hand, and asked if the loved ones were 
there still. Generally, if they had not died, they were 
living in the same house. The French do not change 
their abodes — and many, many we found in the same 
spot where we had parted years ago — merchants in the 
same counting-houses, lawyers giving counsel in the same 
chambers, artists in the same studios. How strange were 
the memories which came back, as we turned into the 
old courts and passages, and heard our own footfall on 
the accustomed stair. Our friends included some of all 
professions — lawyers and physicians and pastors, artists 
and architects and professors. Time had made changes 
in their positions, if not in their habitations. One 
was a prosperous merchant, another a distinguished 
painter; one had served as an officer in the Crimean 



286 SUMMER PICTURES. 

war, another had become a member of the French 
Academy. 

But in all we found the same cordial manner, the same 
warm, true heart. It was worth crossing the sea to wit- 
ness the first look of surprise, then the joyful recognition, 
and the cordial greeting. Of course we cannot lift the 
veil from scenes so sacred. I will give you but a glim2:>se 
of one or two home-circles, which may show you how 
strong are the affections which bind together a French 
family. Among others whom we visited, was an old 
teacher of drawing. We found him and his wife still 
living in the same spot. I allude to them, not to repeat 
how affectionate they were to us, but to note the love 
which existed among themselves. They had one son, 
who was a competitor for the National prize of engraving. 
These prizes are offered by the Government, and the suc- 
cessful candidate is sent to Rome, for five years, at the 
public expense. But the tests to which they are sub- 
jected are the most rigid and severe. The competitors 
are shut np in the Louvre for three months, unable to go 
out or to see their friends. This young man was not 
permitted even to see his mother. When we were first 
in Paris, in June, he was undergoing this honorable 
imprisonment. And when we returned in September, 
he had not yet been released. While this trial was 
going on, it was even painful to see the anxiety of the 
parents. This boy Avas their darling and their pride. 
His mother could hardly speak of him without tears 



DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 287 

touching rebuke, it seemed to us, to those mockers who 
say that there is no family affection in France. It was 
a relief to us when we saw, a few days after, that the 
concours was at last concluded. Partly owing to his 
age, for he was the youngest of all the competitors, the 
first prize had been awarded to another, but his name 
received honorable mention. He will enter the lists 
another year, and no doubt will be successful. 

But a few days before we left Pans, we went to seek 
a very old friend of Mrs. F., even from her school-days, 
a wealthy merchant in whose kind home she had passed 
many a happy day in her girlhood, when she had a vaca- 
tion from her boarding-school. We could not leave 
without seeing him. But was he still living ? We had 
not heard from him for years. It w^as, therefore, with a 
mixture of hope and fear that w^e drove to the street, 
and stopped before the gate of the court. True enough, 
the name was still there. But this is often retained, 
even when the head of the house is gone. I ascended 
to the counting-room, and asked for Mr. T . In- 
stantly a gentleman, with a kind, open countenance, 
came forward to meet me. I asked if he knew Madame 
F., of New York. His face brightened at the name, as 
if he were about to hear tidings of his own daughter, 
and when I added that she was in Paris, and in the car- 
riage at his door, he rushed down to meet her, with 
arms wide open, as if to embrace a long absent child. 
" Now come right into my office, and tell me all about 



288 SUMMER PICTURES. 

you." Swiftly we went over the years that had passed. 
At length we rose to go. " Now," said he, " Tuesday 
you come to dine with us. We are spending the sum- 
mer in the country, near St. Cloud. I shall write at 

once to your old friend, Mademoiselle , telling her 

that a very dear fr-iend of hers has just arrived ft-om 
America, and wishes to meet her." The appouitment 
was at once concluded, and the day found us at the 
place. It was a charming country box — just like an 
English cottage, surrounded with trees, with a lawn in 
front. The family w^ere sitting on the piazza, and our 
entrance w^as a signal for a general salutation. An hour 
later, the father, with his son, his partner in business, 
returned from the city, and the circle was complete. 
The mother of the family was absent, having gone to 
the Pyrenees for the health of a daughter. But beside 
the father w^as a maiden sister — the kind aunt w^ho, in so 
many French famihes, performs the part of a second 
mother, and the former teacher and beloved friend, and 
the son with his newly-married bride, so simply and 
modestly dressed that it quite made me ashamed w^hen I 
thought how American brides are flounced and feathered. 
We sat down to dinner in the merriest mood. What 
charming gaiety was there, what cordial manners, what 
hearty kindness, w^hat true domestic affection and happi- 
ness! Those w^ere golden hours. Here, then, I ex- 
claimed, is the proof that there is no domestic life in 
France ! All I can ask for my countrymen is, that their 



DOMESTIC LIFE IN FEANCE. 289 

hills and valleys may be dotted all over with spots as 
bright and green. 

This is not an isolated case. It is but a fair specimen 
of what may be found everywhere in France, in this 
upper middle class. The same tender affection, the same 
devotedness to each other, the same constancy and truth, 
are the light of ten thousand happy homes. 

It is rather hard that the French should be accused of 
want of heart, for the very reason that they have so 
much politeness of manner. Because they show more than 
others, they are thought to feel less. As if a churlish 
exterior were the only proof of sturdy integrity. Or as 
if a man could not be gentle in word and true in heart. 

I observed here — what I have remarked in many other 
cases — that in a French family there is a much closer 
sympathy of parents with children than with us. They 
give up more of their time to amuse and instruct them. 
In America a man of business works so hard, and comes 
home so jaded, that he has no spirit for anything but to 
read his paper, smoke his cigar, and roll into bed. A 
French father makes a better economy of life. He 
works hard, too, during the day, but not to the point of 
utter exhaustion. He keeps a little strength for his 
home. And when he enters that enchanted circle, and 
shuts the (Toor, he shuts the world behind him. Then, 
begone, dull care ! Then the children have full liberty 
to romp and climb upon the father's knee, and gaiety 
and cheerful enjoyment rule the hour. 

13 



290 SUMMER PICTURES. 

Our last night in France was spent in Havre. We 
had come do^vn from Paris, to embark on the Arago, 
the next morning. Mr. Henri Monod, a wealthy mer- 
chant of Havre, one of the family so well known among 
the Protestants of France — a brother of Frederic and 
Adolphe Monod — had written to Paris to insure our 
company on that last evening. His residence is on the 
heights of Ingouville, which overlook the harbor. As 
we climbed the steep ascent, the sun was setting in the 
Atlantic, and at our feet lay the city, and the port 
crowded with shipping, from which floated the flags of 
all nations. Here again we met the same warm greet- 
ing which had welcomed us everywhere. We found 
ourselves in the home of wealth and refinement, of afiec- 
tion and piety, and we saw how lovely is the type of 
character, when to the charm and natural grace of 
French manners is added the solid strength of Christian 
principle. The same friends were on board the steamer 
at an early hour the next morning, and followed her 
along the quay, past the old tower of Francis the First, 
which guards the entrance to the port, to the end of the 
Mole, from which they waved their last farewell. It 
was pleasant thus to bid adieu for the second time to a 
land dearer to us than any other, except our own 
America. Those faint, fluttering signals, which we 
watched till they disappeared in the distance, seemed 
like white flags of peace waved by gentle hands from 

the Old World to the New. To us they were emblems 

-o 



J 



DOMESTIC LIFE IN FEANCE. 291 

of that sincerity and true affection which we had expe- 
rienced for the past few months — tokens of a love which 
had not changed by distance of space or lapse of time — 
and which we are sure will greet us again, if we are ever 
permitted to return to those beloved and happy shores. 



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